


these pictures of you

by skamz



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Photographer Even, Pining, Slow Build, rich kid isak
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-11-16 15:04:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 40,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11255391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skamz/pseuds/skamz
Summary: Isak Valtersen's family owns a business empire. When his father decides to release a memoir calledA year in the life of the Valtersens, Even Bech Næsheim is the photographer who gets hired to follow them around for a year.





	1. Take care of yourself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! i am new here and i'm actually pretty nervous about posting this because i've never done something like this before aaaaah
> 
> a big big thank you to [marte](judestfrncis.tumblr.com) (MARTIII) who's been so encouraging and who read over this chapter. you're the kindest and most wonderful and patient and you gave me the confidence to actually post this 

Isak stands in the middle of his walk-in closet, facing the rack on which twenty-something white buttoned-up shirts are carefully hung. Sometimes, he wonders if anyone would _actually_ notice if he were to simply wear the same one over and over again—they're all just different variations of the exact same damn shirt, after all. But then he remembers how unbearably superficial the people in his world can be, and, well, yeah. They'd definitely notice. And talk.

He sighs and grabs a new shirt, its tag still on it, courtesy of one of the high fashion houses that sell their items in the luxury malls his family owns. He chews off the tag, lets out a small groan of annoyance when it doesn't cooperate. When he finally manages to remove it, he swaps his sweater for the well-tailored piece of clothing. 

The thing is, they _do_ something to him, these clothes he has to wear when he presents himself to the world. They influence his behavior when he puts them on. He'll stand straighter, shoulders back. It's as though they help him get in character. In a way, Isak's thankful for them, because they facilitate this whole process, they solidify the façade he always puts on display.

Isak Valtersen: one of the principal heirs to the Valtersen empire, member of one of the most affluential families in Europe.

_Decades and decades ago, your great-grand father invested the little amount of money he worked so hard to earn in the right stocks and this is how he managed to build this empire, Isak. And this is why you’re now part of it, this is why your name holds so much meaning and value. This is why you should always say it with the utmost confidence and pride._

It's a story he's been told and retold ever since he can remember. A combination of words imprinted in him, that remains in the back of his mind, that he allows to influence all the choices he makes, at least subconsciously. 

His father will also often remind him of all the opportunities he’s blessed to have, and how grateful he should be. But despite all these opportunities, despite all these doors that have been opened for him throughout his life, Isak can't help but feel—

Isak can't help but feel _trapped_.

Because although his father seems to believe that nothing could bring someone closer to freedom than having money and knowing people who have money, Isak can't help but feel like there is so much he can't possibly do, and so many things he can't possibly be. These doors that are being opened for him without him having to ask more often than not lead to paths he never even wanted to take in the first place.

Isak shakes his head, snapping from his thoughts. He realizes that he's been having some sort of internal monologue for minutes now, right here in the middle of his closet, when he hears the sound of multiple text notifications.  

> **_Magnus Fossbakken_ **
> 
> _Yo dude, what are your plans for tonight? My parents are leaving for the weekend, so i got the whole place to myself_
> 
> _boys are coming over nd these chicks will be there_
> 
> _Hot chicks_
> 
> _Suuuper hot chicks_

Isak stares at his screen, brows furrowed, and he lets out a sigh. He immediately prevents himself from wondering why the prospect of spending the night surrounded by _super hot chicks_ fails to spark any enthusiasm in him, and buries that thought far in the back of his mind instead— he really, really can't do this right now.

Even if he actually wanted to go, he couldn't. People are waiting for him downstairs at this very moment, and his presence is required for the rest of the day. His father made plans for him, and those he can't just cancel as he pleases.

> _**Isak Valtersen**  
>  _
> 
> _Can't go, family stuff. Next time for sure_

He goes to his bathroom, carefully combs his hair to the side. He then places his hands on the edge of the counter, squeezing it without realizing that he is, until the way it digs into his palms becomes uncomfortable enough for him to notice. He loosens his grip and takes a deep breath. His phone buzzes next to the sink, and another text notification pops up on his screen.

 

> _**Magnus Fossbakken** _
> 
> _Haha, sucks to be you_

Isak blinks a few times. He lifts his gaze from the screen and he meets his own eyes in the mirror, but finds himself unable to look into them right now, not willing to face what they have to say, not willing to face himself, and so he looks down again.

He has no idea.

***

Isak hears cheerful chatter in the living room as he slowly goes down the stairs, and he briefly scans the area before anyone can notice his presence. His father stands with a couple of other men in suits, some of them he presumes are businessmen, and the others are lawyers. He's heard snippets of conversations his father had on the phone and at the office lately, and it seems like his team has been working on closing a pretty important deal, which Isak knows virtually nothing about, but he figures he's about to find out more in an instant.

"Isak, son! There you are."

His father spots him and outstretches his arm in his direction. Isak allows an unfelt smile to take over his face, walks towards the small crowd. His father wraps his arm around his shoulders, and the way he squeezes him with his hand is uncomfortable.

"Everyone!" his father announces. "I want you to meet my son, Isak Valtersen! A very important player in our team. Soon, he'll be in charge of closing deals with the likes of you. With your children, perhaps!" His smile is as insincere as his own, Isak can tell, when he jokingly adds: "By then, he won't even need me to hold his hand and show him the way, and he'll do it all by himself, like a grown man." He punctuates the words with another squeeze of his shoulder.

Some of the men greet him with a nod and he holds out his hand to them like he's been taught. It used to make him a lot more anxious, being part of crowds like these, having to introduce himself to the people his family does business with. He's always been told how crucial first impressions were, and when he was younger, he used to repeat this introduction speech in his head multiple times before he made any type of public appearance.

But Isak has gotten used to this, now. And although none of it is heartfelt, he's able to prevent himself from slipping into nervousness. It's all about not thinking, and just doing. Once he allows himself to think too much, he risks losing control, and so he doesn't.

Fourteen year old Isak would have clammy hands right now, but twenty year old Isak doesn't. It all comes more naturally to him, now.

He doesn't quite know how thankful for that he should be.

Isak learns that his father just sealed the acquisition of one of the Europe's largest clothing retailers as he introduces himself to the CEO of said retailer.

"It'll be a pleasure to do business with you," Isak offers, bowing down ever so slightly as a sign of respect.

"The feeling is mutual," the other man replies, and then he's pursing his lips. And Isak knows how these things work, he knows the current bad economy was most likely what tipped him into agreeing to the deal, he can sense that the man most likely wishes he wasn't here, just like Isak wishes the same thing, although his reasons for wanting to be elsewhere are different.

Isak is well aware that these interactions are for the most part shallow and forced. He also knows that he can't bring himself to care, so he simply plays along, pretends to be genuinely excited about their upcoming projects for the year.

And then, as Isak bids goodbye to the man a few minutes later, he notices it from the corner of his eye for the first time.

A camera being pointed in his direction.

He turns toward it, eyebrows slightly raised in confusion, and sees that there is indeed a camera pointing his way. But when the person holding it notices that Isak has turned his focus on them, they move the camera from their face. Isak sees a young man he doesn't recognize. A photographer, it seems, who obviously was given the permission to be here, since no one is protesting his presence, but—

 _Why_ is he here?

Their eyes meet and Isak can't help but feel on the defensive. The other guy tilts his head to the side a little, seemingly puzzled by the look on Isak's face.

Just as he starts walking up to Isak, Isak's father also approaches him.

"Son!" he exclaims, a hand on his forehead. "I just realized that I forgot to introduce you to..."

"Even Bech Næsheim," the guy finishes, holding out his hand, because his father apparently forgot his name as well. Their eyes meet and Isak stands still for a few seconds, as if hypnotized, before shaking his hand. Isak knows all about handshakes, and his is firm, assured. It's a good handshake.

His eyes travel from their jointed hands to his face and it hits him—the fact that he's incredibly handsome. Bright and blue eyes, plump lips, defined jaw. And he's tall, taller than Isak. The thought flashes through his mind, and his features are momentarily the centre of his attention.

He's quick to shove the thought aside, though, and takes a breath as deep as possible without it being noticeable.

"Isak Valtersen," he replies.

"I know," the photographer says. "It's a pleasure," he adds, and he has this little smile that barely lifts the corner of his mouth but still reaches his eyes. It's not a sight Isak is used to see when meeting new people in settings like this; it almost leaves him perplexed.

Isak gives a single nod, not knowing how else to respond.

"I'm sorry, I thought you'd been informed," he says, placing a hand on his heart, next to the camera that's wrapped around his neck. "It's really not a habit of mine to take pictures of people if they're not at least aware there's a chance they might be photographed."

 _Informed of what_ , Isak thinks, turning his head toward his father, the question in his eyes.

"Yes, yes!" His father begins. "Listen, long story short, I'll be releasing a memoir next year. _A year in the life_."

Isak looks at him with furrowed brows. "A year in the life?"

"A year in the life of the Valtersens," his father says. "A collection of highlights, important moments, if you will. Even will be by our side, taking photographs throughout the upcoming year."

When Isak looks down, his father adds: "You know people are interested in that kind of stuff, Isak. It'll be good for our image."

Isak begins to assimilate the idea. "Sure," he replies, eyes going back up.

It's just so fucking  _typical_ of him, and Isak almost wants to mentally argue that he's being so full of himself, but the thing is that he's _right_. Isak has no trouble believing that some people _would_ actually be interested in getting their hands on something like this. He's aware of the public's strange curiosity when it comes to his family, with knowing what they are up to, with always wanting to find out more and more. It's something he's grown up with, and it's something his father and grand-father have always cultivated; this image they try to associate with their name. Because  _Valtersen_ is a brand, as they say.

This would provide the public with a good insight into their activities, into their lives, and he knows it would most likely spark that curiosity, and sell.

And the truth is that it doesn't even feel like a breach of his privacy at this point. Isak's not surprised that he's only being informed of this project now. It's been a long time since Isak has felt like his image belonged to him, and if he's being honest, he'd also add that it's been a long time since he's felt like his life belonged to him. He can't really remember ever feeling like it did.

When he hears the voice of the photographer again, he notices that his father has now left.

"Escuse me?"

Isak looks at him. "Yes?"

"Are you comfortable with this?"

Two questions immediately cross Isak's mind. Firstly: does he appear uncomfortable? Secondly: does it even matter, at all, if he is?

He asks neither.

"Of course I'm comfortable," he answers, chin slightly tilted up, his tone a little more defiant than he intended.

The guy gives him another one of these _smiles_ , except this time it lingers in his eyes.

"Let me know when you aren't, okay?" He puts up his hand in halt sign. "Do this and I'll stop," he says, and then he breathes out a little laugh.

And now Isak doesn't know if he's being serious or if he's joking, because he had seemed genuine when he asked him to let him know if he was ever uncomfortable with being photographed. But then he laughed a little, but it didn't sound like he was mocking him, did it? It sounded more like—

Isak doesn't know.

He vacillates between wanting to thank him for being considerate and remaining suspicious, he can't quite tell which option he should opt for in this scenario, and he can't find out soon enough, and he's just fucking  _standing_ there now like an idiot, and he's overthinking now, completely overthinking. He begins to tense up, can feel it because of the way his back goes stiff, causing discomfort around his shoulder blades.

What the hell is _wrong_ with him. 

"Okay," Isak ends up saying, almost exhaling the word.

"Good!" he replies, hands grabbing his camera. "I'll see you later," he adds, before he turns around and leaves him to stand by himself.

Isak closes his eyes for a little too long, opens them again when another new business partner comes to introduce themselves. He manages to maintain his composure and appear engaged in the conversation.

 _You're doing well,_  he tries to remind himself. _You're doing well._

***

Isak finds himself surrounded by the same crowd of people that night, except they're now accompanied by their spouses and some of them brought their children along. His father is hosting a cocktail in their immense backyard because obviously today's deal needs a proper celebration. And _obviously_ simply popping champagne with his associates and the lawyers who sealed it earlier is not enough for him.

And so, after about another hour of socializing, Isak finds himself sitting alone at one of the tables that have been set up outside. He's sipping on his second glass of red wine, and slowly realizing that he should've had something to eat beforehand. Wine tends to make him sleepy, especially when he drinks it on an empty stomach, and it also tends to accentuate his tiredness when he hasn't slept much to begin with. Which he hasn't—sleep and Isak haven't really been getting along lately. 

He feels lightheaded for a brief moment after he stands, puts his hand on the table to stabilize himself. He then heads to where the buffet of mini-bites is, and his stomach grumbles when he sees them, as though reminded of how hungry he actually is. 

There's a pretty large variety of delicious looking food, and he has to admit that this is one of the silver linings of having to attend these events. His eyes spot the platters of mini burgers, and he takes one, contemplates eating the whole thing in one bite. He stares at it for a few seconds, wondering if it might be a little too big, but he doesn't have the time to make a final decision, because the sound of a camera clicking startles him and he drops it on the ground.

He turns to where the sound came from, eyes a little wide and he sees  _him_ , still looking at him through the viewfinder of his camera. 

"Hey!" he protests. 

He (Even Bech Næsheim? Mr. Bech Næsheim?  _This damn guy_? Isak isn't quite sure what to call him yet) lets the camera hang around his neck and he approaches Isak. 

"You can't do that," Isak says, and he tries to sound completely composed, but he can hear in his voice how offended he actually is. 

"Didn't you say you were comfortable with this?" he asks, an eyebrow slightly raised. 

He has this spark in his eyes and he sounds almost  _playful_ and Isak wants to tell him that he can't just  _do_ that. He can't speak to him like this, he was hired for a job and he's being completely out of line here, but he can't bring himself to say any of that, and instead he blurts out: "I couldn't do this," as he raises his hand in a halt sign, just like he was shown earlier. 

"That's pretty fair," the guy replies softly. "I'm sorry about that, I'll delete it now." As he selects the picture and deletes it, he tells him: "You know, it's just that wedding photography used to be my thing for a while, and I've always tried to capture the special moments between loved ones. The way you were staring at that burger...truly like it was only the two of you in the entire world." 

He looks up when he's done and lets out a silent chuckle at Isak's lack of response.

Honestly, what is he doing here? Why does he keep making fun of him like this? And why can't Isak just come up with an appropriate response? He feels stuck, speechless, and so he simply looks down, and sees the burger on the grass.

"You made me drop it," he whispers to himself. 

The next thing he knows, there's another mini burger in his field of vision, and this time it's held in a napkin by the guy. "There, you can have this one." 

Isak frowns.

"Come on, they're all the same."

Isak turns his head and he's just—

He's right  _there,_ almost in his personal space, and Isak can  _smell_ him, the male perfume that's not overpowering, but instead clean and fresh. Isak blinks, quickly grabs the burger, and he takes a small step back, away from him. Isak probably moved a little too abruptly, because now he's feeling dizzy, and he squeezes his eyes shut for a second, inhaling deeply. 

"Hey, you okay?" 

When Isak opens his eyes, they meet his. They seem to quickly study Isak's face, and then he's looking into Isak's eyes again. He sighs, and Isak thinks he sees him bite the inside of his bottom lip as he frowns a little. "Did you drink?" he asks quietly.

"Just a little," Isak replies, his voice just as quiet. He didn't owe him an answer, not at all, but he sounded so non-judgmental just now and Isak is feeling more and more tired and he couldn't help but allow him to ask the question, couldn't help but give in and answer. 

"It'd be a good idea to go sit down and have a bite, don't you think?" 

Isak swallows and looks to his left, where the empty table where he was sitting is and he nods, his head barely moving. Isak doesn't look at him again and starts walking toward the table. He sits on the chair and eats the small burger. 

Just a few minutes later, he thinks he can hear steps approaching and a presence behind him. He doesn't turn around, doesn't assume that it's him. And then, he hears the sound of a plastic bottle being open, and a hand places a water of bottle in front of him. 

"Take care of yourself, okay?" he hears, and he begins to think that he can discern concern in the words, but he doesn't let himself complete that thought, and instead he just stares at the bottle for a little while, his eyes glued to it. He slowly counts to ten in his head, and then, tentatively, he looks around and sees that no one is standing behind him anymore. 

Okay.  _Okay._

He downs half the bottle in one go, can feel the cold water going down. A drop dribbles along his chin and he wipes it with the back of his hand. And the thing is, it feels good, the water, it feels really good and Isak really needed it, but there's this weight on his chest and he feels warm all over, despite the cool evening weather. He takes another sip of water, and reaches for the top button of his shirt, unbuttons it. 

Somehow, that doesn't help. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading, i really appreciate it :) hope you all have a wonderful day   
> you can find me on tumblr [here](http://skamz.tumblr.com) :)


	2. Good night, Isak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hellooo! here is the second chapter :) thank you so so much for the lovely comments on the first one, they truly made me so happy :) i hope you enjoy this one, too!
> 
> once again, thank you to [marte](judestfrncis.tumblr.com) who read over this chapter

Isak slowly emerges from sleep, his eyes slightly burning behind his closed eyelids. The feeling only increases when he opens them and they're met with the sunlight that peeks through the curtains. He closes them again and turns around, his movements sluggish. 

He slides his hand under his pillow where he knows his phone is. He grabs it to quickly look at the time, squinting as bright light now emanates from the screen, and he purposely ignores all his notifications. It's ten past eleven. On a Thursday. 

Isak has found that running his hands under cold water and then pressing them against his face will help him feel more awake and soothe his eyes. So, he runs them under nearly ice-cold water, that alone already making him feel more awake. He then brings his hands to his face, tensing up when he first touches it, and he stands this way in front of his mirror for a good minute or so, trying to stimulate his lethargic face, massaging his forehead in an attempt to relieve the tension there. He hasn't had a busy schedule at all this past week, and has barely left his room other than to eat, but his restless nights have started to weigh quite heavy on him. 

When he heads to the kitchen, he sees Alfred, their house cook, his usual apron on, stirring delicious smelling food in a large pan and the only sound that can be heard is the sizzling from that pan. His father is also there, sitting on one of the stools by the counter, eyes glued to his large phone screen as he seems to be typing an e-mail. 

"Well! Look who we have here," he says, looking up from his phone as he notices Isak arriving. 

"Good morning," Isak mumbles. 

"Isak!" Alfred exclaims. "How are you today?" 

"I'm good," Isak says. Alfred turns to look at him and Isak has to remind himself to smile. He tries to make it seem as genuine as possible, which isn't all too difficult, when the person on the receiving end of his smile is Alfred. The middle-aged man has been their cook ever since Isak was born. He'd always been there, a constant in his life, cooking virtually all their meals (the ones they do eat at home, at least). He always seems so pleased to do so, and it's a familiar sight that Isak appreciates, deep down. "How are you?" he asks in return. 

"Oh, I'm very well, Isak! Mushroom sauce is almost ready, I'll just let it cook for a bit." He lowers the heat on the stove, and as he goes to wash his hands, he says: "I'm a little disappointed that you didn't get to eat some of my spinach and swiss cheese omelette this morning, however." He sighs exaggeratedly. "But I shall get over that, when you stay to try these mushroom ravioli." He smiles at Isak once again, and Isak smiles back, spontaneously this time. 

"If you woke up early enough, you could've had breakfast like the rest of us," his fathers says, and Isak can hear it in his voice. The slight annoyance, the judgement. "You know, the french say that the future belongs to those who wake up early." 

 _The french who say that probably fall asleep before four in the morning and manage to sleep for more than two hours straight_ , he wants to argue. 

There is a moment of silence and his father doesn't seem to mind, or notice, how uncomfortable the atmosphere has grown.

Isak feels the urge to yawn, but he feels like this will prove his father right, in some way. He doesn't want to be perceived as tired at this hour of the day, doesn't want him to think he's lazy and unmotivated, especially not after the remark he just made. But he can't help it, and he yawns with his mouth closed, his nose flaring. 

He tries to hide it subtly with the back of his hand, but Alfred seems to notice, and he gives Isak a sympathetic look. After all these years, Isak can tell that Alfred has always been a more quiet observer, always paying attention even when he's not involved in a conversation. But Alfred's never out of place, never appears judgemental, not only because he is first and foremost their employee, but also because that is who he seems to be as a human being. Isak appreciates it more than he thinks he's able to express, but he hopes Alfred notices that, too. 

Alfred prepares a shot of espresso and steams some milk, and then he walks over to the counter where they are sitting, placing a cup of latté in front of Isak. 

"With a spoonful of sugar," he says. 

"Thank you, Alfred."

He sips on the latté and his father remains silent, his focus back on whatever he's doing on his phone now. 

"Are you still joining me to New York?" he hears. 

"New York?" 

"The business trip in two weeks, Isak." He almost sounds exasperated by the fact that Isak doesn't seem to know what he's referring to, and Isak tries to conceal the hint of defensiveness in his voice as he replies: "You never  _told_  me about a business trip to New York." 

"I sent you an e-mail," he says, as if pointing out the obvious. "Listen, son, this is very important for us. Expanding our market outside of Europe is huge, and this is an crucial first step. I need you to be there, and I need you to not let me down." 

Isak swallows, fingers slightly tightening on the handle of his mug. "Of course I'll be there," he replies. 

"Good." His father seems pleased and Isak almost feels a sense of relief.

It soothes something in him, his father's approval. And he hates that it does, because it shouldn't, at least not like this, not when it's his main reason to believe he's doing something  _right_ , but it does. It really does. 

Isak looks down at his drink, fingers gently tapping the side of the cup. "Where's mom?" he dares to ask after a moment. He hasn't seen her in over twenty four hours, despite them living under the same roof. It happens, sometimes, because of their incompatible schedules, because of how huge their house is, but she hasn't been texting him at all either, and that is pretty unusual. 

"She's in our bedroom still, she isn't feeling so well today," his father replies.

"Is there something wrong?" Isak asks, looking up from his cup now, in his father's direction. 

He gives a little shrug. "I think she's just feeling tired and needs some rest." Isak frowns, unconvinced, and his father sighs. "It's nothing, Isak." 

"I'll go check up on her."

"I think you should just let her rest for the day." 

Isak doesn't say anything, although he wants to be more insistent, because this doesn't feel quite right, because he's concerned, but he doesn't dare to. 

Shortly after, Alfred comes back to serve them their plates, and they once again eat in silence. 

***

Isak is on his way to their home gym, after he decided that it's been too long since he's worked out, thinking that it might do him some good (he's fooling himself, it feels like, but he figures that it certainly won't _hurt_ ), when he bumps into—

 _Him._  

He's looking down at his phone, his other hand in his pocket, and a part of Isak wishes he wouldn't look up and somehow fail to notice him. Another part wonders why he's here in the first place, wandering alone in the hallways of their mansion. 

It's as though the order to his legs is received with some delay, and he doesn't step aside fast enough to prevent his shoulder from colliding with his arm. 

Photographer guy seems startled until he notices that Isak is the person he just bumped into. "Oh, hey," he says, quiet cheerfulness in his tone.

"Hm, h—hey," Isak stutters. He begins to toy with the towel that's draped over his shoulder, unsure of what to say next. The last time he had seen him was over a week ago now, and he had seen Isak in a slightly— _vulnerable_ state, had told him to  _take care of himself_ and Isak has tried to— 

He has tried to erase the moment from his memory, but he now realizes that his attempt hasn't been so successful. 

"What are you doing here?" he asks. 

"Did you forget?" he chuckles, almost teasingly. "You know, I take pictures for your father's, hm, memoir?"

"No, I  _know_ that." Isak rolls his eyes—he hasn't tried to erase  _that_ much from his memory. "But why are you  _here_? In our house. I mean, today— why are you here today?" 

"Your father sure brings a lot of work home, doesn't he? He was just in his office with some people now."  He looks Isak up and down, at his training shorts and top, and Isak can feel his cheeks warm up, and he hopes his blush isn't too apparent. "Besides, I live here. I mean, sort of?" 

At that, Isak's eyes widen, his mouth hanging slightly open.

 _What the fuck_. 

"You  _live_  here?"  

"Well, it's not like I have a royal suite like some other people here," he says playfully, head cocked to the side. "But I do have a nice little room where I'm allowed to stay." 

"My room isn't a  _royal suite_ , Mr. Bech Næsheim," Isak is quick to protest. _Okay_ , he can concede that his room is quite spacious but it's not  _that_ big and luxurious in comparison to, well, the other rooms in the mansion.  

Isak doesn't expect him to start laughing at his response, but he does. And it's all Isak can hear, and see—the way his laugh fills the whole hallway, the way his teeth are fully revealed and the way his cheeks are lifted and the way his eyes seem almost fully closed, the way their corners crinkles. It captures his full attention initially, but then he shakes his head and asks himself the obvious. 

_What is there to laugh about?_

" _Mr. Bech Næsheim_ ," he imitates the way Isak called him, and lets out a long and content sigh. "Is it, like, mandatory for you to call me that? Come on, we're almost the same age!" He's not laughing anymore, but his smile remains, and so does the brightness in his eyes. "What are you, nineteen?" 

"I'm twenty!" Isak hates how on the defensive he sounds. He shouldn't be, he simply misguessed his age, and it's honestly nothing serious.

He takes a long breath through his nose, trying to regain his composure. 

"Ha, see! I'm twenty-two, so we're even closer in age." Isak's hand is back on his towel, but this time he only wraps his hand around it, as if needing to hold onto something. "You can call me Even. Or Mr. Even? If that's more professional or something." He then places a finger on his chin and he seems to ponder for a moment, his head tilted up. "Hmm, actually,  _Mr_. sounds weird coming from you."

_Coming from him?_

"Yes, well, this is a working relationship," Isak retorts. "It doesn't actually matter if it sounds weird to you. You and I are not friends." 

He's well aware that he's being unfairly harsh, but he suddenly feels the urge, the  _need_ to set some well defined boundaries between the two of them. Isak attempts to read too much into this guy's behavior, he somehow can't help it, and he is always left puzzled by it. It's fucking disconcerting, is what it is. And he wants to fully understand what is  _happening_  when they interact so he can adjust his own behavior accordingly, so he can know how to act and what to say, but at the same time he doesn't want to acknowledge that anything is indeed happening in the first place. 

Jesus, why is he making this so unnecessarily complicated?

It's as though the guy is able to detect his internal dilemma and he looks aside, furrowing his brows, but only barely. He then looks back at Isak and gives him a sympathetic look. 

"You can call me whatever you want," he ends up saying, and it sounds so genuine, without any hidden meaning. When Isak doesn't respond, he purses his lips a little and gives him a small smile. "I guess I'll go." 

Isak stands there, closing his eyes when he begins to walk away, thinking he should feel relieved, but he doesn't. After a few seconds, he exhales through gritted teeth and turns around. 

"Hey," he calls out, and for a brief moment he's torn between hoping his voice was loud enough to be heard, and hoping it wasn't and he'll simply continue walking the opposite way.  

He does hear, and turns around. 

"Yes?" he asks, raising his eyebrows slightly, as if encouraging Isak to continue. 

"I guess—I guess I can call you Even," Isak says resignedly, the words stuck on the tip of his tongue, before he manages to set them free.

Even seems pleasantly surprised. He makes a few steps toward Isak, and suddenly he's standing right in front of him. His eyes are traveling across Isak's face, as if in search of something. "And I guess I'd be pushing my luck if I asked to call you Isak, huh?" Isak stays a little stunned, and he can hear Even let out the faintest laugh. "Step by step," Even ends up whispering as their eyes meet, and this time Isak doesn't lower his gaze.  

When Isak gets to the gym, he's quick to find out that exercising won't help him take his mind off of their latest talk. He runs and runs and runs, but after twenty minutes on the treadmill, he realizes that he can't run away from it. 

***

Brunch with the boys is really something Isak wishes he could only look forward to. 

When they start to talk about their latest hookups, though, he sort of begins to hope the ground would swallow him whole instead. 

He lazily plays with the food on his plate, trying to draw his full attention to it, turning his breakfast potatoes into mashed potatoes, shaping the whole thing into some sort of oddly formed mountain. 

"She ripped your sheets?" Jonas asks, incredulous. 

"Man, I'm telling you. She was like  _Oh god, Magnus, you're the best I've ever had in my entire life, oh my god!_ " Magnus' voice goes high as he attempts to imitate what was said during his alleged hookup. "I think she was really strong. Or my sheets were too delicate. Or both. The fuck do I know," he chortles and then takes a sip of his orange juice. "But I don't want her to just, like, like me for my dick you know? I think I really felt a connection there."

Mahdi and Jonas look simultaneously amused and weirded out, and Isak tries to force a smile. 

"Here's to you two, then, I guess," Jonas says as he raises his glass, half laughing and shaking his head. 

"Aw, thanks man, I appreciate that," Magnus replies cheerfully.  

Isak is almost glad when the waitress comes to take their plates, diverting their attention. "Did you all enjoy your meal?" She asks, almost singing the words, a glowing look on her face. 

The boys all tell her that they did, at the same time and enthusiastically, but the waitress' eyes are on Isak. "Did you, Mr. Valtersen?" she asks him this time, and there's this hopefulness in her tone that as she gives him a shy smile and Isak wants to tell her  _please don't, please just don't_. 

"Yeah, thanks," he says, nodding absently, glancing at her only for a second. 

"Would you like something to drink?" she asks them, but her eyes are still on Isak. Mahdi nudges him, his eyes pointing in her direction. 

"No, we're good," he replies, and it sounds cold, completely disinterested. He can't stand himself when he's like this, but he doesn't know how else to let her know that whatever she's trying to do here is pointless, that it won't lead anywhere, because, _because_ —

Because, fuck. 

He can't. 

"Oh, okay then," she says sheepishly. "I'll be back with your bills." 

" _Dude_ , what's your problem?" Mahdi asks, eyes a little wide, as though he can't believe what he just witnessed. "She was totally into you." 

"Totally into my wallet, yeah," Isak retorts, faking a look of disdain. "I'm not looking for some gold digger." 

"Bro, you don't know the girl, you can't just talk about her like that." Jonas says, his brows furrowed. He seems both confused and disappointed and Isak has to look away, digging his heels into the ground. Seeing his best friend like this is also something he can't stand.

"Also,  _Isak Valtersen_ , you're not the only one who's well off at this table, so, like, you can't say that's the only reason why she was interested. Maybe she felt a connection," Magnus says, wiggling his eyebrows. "Like me and my girl on friday. Although, like, probably not as deep of a connection, if you know what I mean." He snorts a laugh, looking at Jonas and Mahdi for approval, and the two of them just shake their heads, still clearly amused. 

"Jesus Christ, can you guys _stop_ ," Isak snaps. "She barely even talked to me! And I don't—have time for this, guys,  _seriously_. I don't have time to hook up with girls who will rip my sheets and fucking scream my name, I'm actually up to  _here_  with work," he exaggerates, an horizontal hand high over his head. 

He swallows, then takes a deep breath, and he doesn't dare to look at any of them. 

"Okaaaay," Magnus says, breaking the silence. He stands to go to the bathroom, and Mahdi follows him.  

"Seriously Isak," Jonas begins. "I know that you've had, like, not the best experiences, and I'm sorry you have a hard time trusting people's intentions, but they're not all just in it for your money." He sighs. "I think it would actually do you some good, you know? To have someone. You deserve that." 

Their eyes meet and Isak can see in Jonas' that he means what he said, that he wants Isak to be happy. With someone.

Isak's chest tightens a little. Does he, though? Does he deserve that? Does he deserve a friend like Jonas who thinks he does? 

"Thanks, Jonas," he ends up replying, and his voice can barely be heard. 

A long minute passes in silence and Isak's shoulders tense up slightly. It's frustrating, to sit here and not be truthful to his friends, to his best friend, for Jonas to just have no idea, for Isak himself to not really know what the hell is _up_  with him. 

Guilt—it has the tendency to eat him away, and right now he feels guilty for calling the waitress a gold digger, he feels guilty for snapping at his friends, he feels guilty for lying to them for being such a fucking fraud. He ends up paying everyone's bill, and gives the waitress a tip bigger than the cost of all their meals, telling himself it doesn't make it all okay, but that it's the least he can do. He hopes it will appease his conscience, but it doesn't, not really.

***

Sometimes, when Isak has trouble falling asleep and he feels motivated enough, he takes out his telescope, and brings along a sheet and a pillow to go lie in his backyard. 

The moon is full tonight, and he doesn't know how long he stares at it, also doesn't know how much time he spends trying to spot constellations and the biggest and brightest stars in the sky, doesn't really know how long he spends trying to count them all. And truthfully, he doesn't really care to know, because stargazing is one of the things he simply allows himself to do, without boundaries, without any second thoughts. 

It's peaceful and quiet and beautiful, and he lets the cool air fill his lungs, lets all his limbs relax, almost melting into the grass. It's only him and this view at night and nothing else matters. This gives him something to concentrate on, something he actually loves, and there's no room for his thoughts. He doesn't even have to try to silence them, because they don't make themselves be heard in the first place. 

This is one of these moments when he doesn't have to  _try_ , and instead can just let himself  _be_. 

Crickets are chirping in the distance, and it's a comforting background noise, but then Isak thinks he hears steps. He chooses not to give it a second thought, but the steps are louder and clearer as time passes by, and his heart begins to race a little. He swallows thickly, sitting up and slowly turns to look behind him. And the thing is that he should've expected this, somehow, Isak thinks to himself that he should've expected  _him_. 

Because of course,  _of course,_ Even is walking toward him. 

He isn't supposed to see  _this_ , Isak's stargazing setup, something that's so incredibly personal and private. But he already has, and Isak can't make him unsee any of it, so packing up his stuff and running back inside would be, well, absolutely pointless. 

Even is standing behind Isak, and his eyes travel from him to the telescope, and then to the sky and Isak waits for him to just  _say_ something, the heel of his hand pressing into the grass. 

"Do you mind if I sit here?" he ends up asking, and Isak turns back around, not looking in his direction anymore. 

"Does it matter if I do?" is his reply, and he already feels defeated, for some reason.  _Get a grip, Isak._

"Of course it does," he hears, and once again it sounds so  _sincere_  and Isak has to close his eyes. He's thankful that Even can't actually see him. 

Isak shrugs, barely lifting his shoulder as he does. "You can," he tells him. 

Even goes to sit on the other side of the telescope, and Isak is glad there is at least that material barrier between the two of them. As Isak remains sitting up, Even lies down on the grass, not seeming to care that he doesn't have a sheet to lie on, or a pillow to rest his head on, and he simply crosses his arms behind his head instead. 

"I haven't done this in so long." Even lets out a content sigh, and Isak tentatively looks at him. It's really dark, but Isak's eyes have adjusted to the darkness, and he can partially see him, his face, the way his eyes are staring at the sky, and the sky only. Isak wonders if this is what he looked like moments earlier. 

"You, hm, do this too?" Isak asks, and he finds himself genuinely wanting to find out. 

He sees the way Even's lips curve into a smile. "Not often enough." He lifts his head a little, eyes looking his way this time, and Isak quickly looks away. "What about you? You do this often?"

"Like, once a week or something," Isak replies.

"So, you're really into this?" Even asks, and Isak can hear the smile in his voice. "I mean, I should've guessed because of..." Isak can't see him, but he assumes he's pointing at the telescope. 

"Yeah," he whispers. He's looking back up to the sky, and he's surprised that he's still able to admire its beauty and immensity, is still able to let it reach him, despite Even being so close, despite Even being able to witness it all.

"Why aren't you looking through the telescope?" Even sounds curious rather than critical of his choice, and Isak's response comes out naturally, without hesitation: "I like to look at it all with only my eyes, and then when I spot something I wanna take a closer look at, that's when I use the telescope."  

"Don't you wish you could, like—" Even props himself up on his elbows, and continues "Keep these images with you?" 

Isak looks at him from the corner of his eyes. "What do you mean?" he asks, almost whispering. 

"I mean, like, when you look at the moon through the telescope. And you can really see...the craters, and how the sunlight reflects on it. It's gorgeous but you only get to see it like this," he says, nodding toward the full moon. "Once a month. Don't you forget about it a little afterward? Our memory isn't  _that_ good." 

"I haven't really thought about it? I just enjoy it while I look at it, I guess? In that particular moment." 

"But do you think about it after?" 

Isak does. Sometimes, he'll catch himself closing his eyes and trying to picture it all, trying to recreate the images. It's never perfect, or precise, but it still looks gorgeous in his head, despite not being entirely truthful to reality. 

He nods. "Sometimes."  

Even sits back up with a small groan, and Isak can feel his eyes peeking at him, despite his still looking at the sky. And then he's actually  _staring_ at him, and Isak isn't quite sure what to make of that, but it doesn't make him feel as uneasy as he supposes it usually would, perhaps because it's so dark and he can't properly  _see_ him, and that feels like he has an additional layer of protection, in some way. But also, just perhaps, he has grown more comfortable around him, in the last fifteen minutes or so. 

"I'll be right back," he declares as he stands up, and Isak hears him walk away. 

He entertains the idea of lying back down for a good two minutes, and when he does, he repositions his head on the pillow several times, but when he hears footsteps again, he goes still. 

"Let's try this," Even says. 

Isak turns over on his stomach, supporting himself on his forearms, and he sees Even kneeling behind the telescope, his camera in his hand. 

"What are you doing?" Isak asks, his confusion obvious. 

"Tonight, the sky is our model," he replies enthusiastically and Isak can see the reflection of the moon in his eyes. He positions the lens of the camera in front of the eyepiece of the telescope. "Okay, this isn't optimal, and it'd be better with something to attach it to the telescope and, like, a focus adapter and—" he stops to look at Isak, who doesn't know what he's talking about, and he bites his lower lip, concealing a smile. "Come take a look," he says softly. 

Isak allows himself a second to look down, before he goes to kneel next to Even. He looks at him, and then down at the monitor, and he sees zoomed in parts of the sky, just like he would when looking through the telescope. 

"That's why I like to photograph things, sometimes," Even begins, as he takes a picture. "To keep sights, moments with me, so I can go back to them whenever and wherever I want."

Isak is the one who tries to hide his smile this time. "So you don't just take pictures for rich and self-obsessed businessmen?" he teases, and he can't quite believe he just said that. 

Even raises his eyebrows at him, and he seems both surprised and amused. "I don't," he replies. Their eyes meet and Isak allows it, allows himself to let out a little laugh.  

Even holds the camera in place and lets Isak position the telescope, tells him to take pictures when he sees something he likes. Isak's hand brushes against his, and that simple touch alone, in the context of tonight, is enough to make him shiver. He pulls his hand away abruptly, and his breathing quickens a little.  

But Even doesn't make any remark, he doesn't budge, simply waits for Isak to start taking pictures again. Isak does, and he ends up taking close to a hundred, and Even takes a few ones too. It's teamwork, really, them alternating between adjusting the telescope, holding the camera and actually taking the pictures. 

And it works well, Isak thinks to himself. It works really well.  

"It's nice that you get to keep this," Isak says, giving him a tentative smile. 

"Me?" Even asks. He takes out the SD card from the camera, and hands it to Isak. "No way, this is yours," he says, and when Isak simply looks at it, and seems to hesitate, he quietly adds: "I insist." 

When Isak takes it and their fingers brush again, it doesn't startle him this time. The night is growing colder, but this gentle warmth spreads through him, from the pit of his stomach and through his limbs. "That's really nice, thank you," he replies, and he hopes he manages to convey just how much he means that. 

"It's nothing," he says, the right corner of his lips curving upward.  

 _It's not_ , Isak thinks. 

"We should, hm—we should probably go to sleep," Even says. 

"Yeah," Isak nods. 

"Good night, Isak," is the last thing he tells him, before he begins to walk away and Isak realizes that Even called him by his first name, that he let him and, most importantly, that he didn't want to correct him. 

He liked the way he said his name. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as even said, step by step!! hope you're all doing well, thank you so much for reading!   
> you can find me on [tumblr](http://skamz.tumblr.com) :)


	3. I'm not gonna kiss you tonight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hii! here is the third chapter, i wanted to post this earlier but my mac charger broke and i only got a new one today, aaah
> 
> i would like to say thank you to [lise](http://mouthfulofbirds.tumblr.com/) who was, like, the most encouraging when i literally felt like giving up on this fic. you're wonderful 
> 
> also! this chapter is unbetaed, because the lovely marte is away in their cabin at the moment, i'm really sorry if there are any mistakes in this, they are aaall on me! 
> 
> (slight warning in the end notes, just to be safe )

Isak makes his way to the kitchen, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hands and trying to swallow a yawn, but he immediately stops in his track when he notices who is already there.

Alfred stands in front of the stove, making breakfast. But Even is there as well, leaning back against the kitchen counter, wearing a pair of sweatpants and a white t-shirt and sipping a cup of coffee. His hair is uncombed and he looks—

Isak scratches his nose, although it doesn't itch.

He looks good.

Whatever conversation they are having makes it seem as though they are long-time friends; it sounds lively and cheerful and although Isak is used to seeing Alfred smile, he doesn't remember the last time he's heard him laugh so heartily.

Isak takes a few seconds to take in the sight, finding himself endeared by it, and he can't help but smile, a small and lazy smile that barely shows on his lips.

"Isak is here for breakfast!" Alfred exclaims when he sees him and Isak looks down as he makes his way towards one of the seats, his smile growing a little shy because their attention is now directed toward him.

"For _breakfast_ ," Even repeats jokingly, eyebrows raised in false amazement when he looks at Isak. It only last for a short moment, however, before a large smile takes over his face, and Isak is pretty certain he can see him mouth "Good morning" at him.

"Okay, but now let's not forget the tablespoon of sour cream," Even says to Alfred, putting his mug on the counter.

"Ha! Of course, of course." Alfred makes his way to the refrigerator and grabs a small tub of sour cream, and Even hands him a spoon. "I see you know the secret to making perfect and luscious scrambled eggs."

"Gordon Ramsay taught me," Even replies, bringing a hand to his chest. "I mean, on the internet."

"Gordon Ramsay..." Alfred almost grumbles, shaking his head while he stirs the scrambled eggs. "You know, when I opened my first restaurant, I bet he'd only just learned how to crack eggs. He may be on TV, but he didn't invent this trick! I am telling you, he did not."

Isak tries to conceal a giggle at his sudden outburst, pursing his lips, but it becomes even more difficult when his eyes meet Even's, who has exactly the same expression on his face.

But his desire to laugh at Alfred's reaction rapidly turns into something else, and he feels his face relax, just like the rest of him, as the look on Even's face grows softer, his gaze not leaving Isak's. It's quite unusual, how Isak decides not to question this, but maybe he's still too sleepy. Or maybe he simply doesn't want to.

The truth is that something has shifted between the two of them since they observed and took pictures of the sky together that night, a little over a week ago. Isak hasn't really been able to keep his guard up the few and brief moments he spent around Even since then. And although he can't exactly pinpoint how it makes him feel yet, doesn't really try to, he does know that this change has brought along with it a sense of relief.

"You used to own a restaurant?" he hears him ask Alfred.

Alfred nods. "Me and my...partner, we opened this place when we were only twenty," he begins, not looking at any of them. "Absolute idiots, we were, but his parents had money and they let us borrow some. It was our big dream." Isak can see a glimpse of a nostalgic smile. "But then I ended up closing the place, when he—It just wasn't the same without him." He stops stirring the food and lets out a sigh, and Even looks at him, his brows slightly furrowed, a compassionate look on his face.

"I bet it was a wonderful restaurant," Even says, expressing the words that were on Isak's mind. "I mean," he continues, placing a hand on Alfred's shoulder, "with you as a chef? Gordon Ramsay could only wish."

This actually manages to pull a little laugh out of him. "Oh, stop it, you," he replies, batting a hand at Even, his joyful tone not as prominent, but still audible.

Even seems pleased. He claps his hands together once, straightening himself before he announces: "Let's eat, shall we?"

Alfred seems to hesitates for a second. "Oh, I don't usually eat here, I mean, not with—"

Suddenly, Isak is hit with the realization that they _don't_ in fact share meals, ever. And the thing is that although Isak can't imagine his house without Alfred in it, he's reminded now that he doesn't live here the way Isak does, that they aren't exactly part of the same group. That they never were made to be, despite all their shared years under the same roof.

"Well," Even interrupts as he looks for plates in the cupboard. "We're all eating breakfast together this morning. Right, Isak?"

"Right," he says, looking up. Their eyes meet and Even gives him a small nod of approval, like he somehow understands this, too.

Even is a good person, Isak thinks to himself. A truly _good_ person, and it doesn't feel like it's simply the impression Isak has of him; it's a gut feeling, one he can't quite imagine being proven wrong about.

"When did you say you were leaving, Even?" Alfred asks.

"Next Monday," Even replies.

Isak quickly swallows his bite. "You're leaving?" he asks precipitately, immediately regretting not asking the question in a way that would make him seem more detached. "I mean, where?"

"New York City."

And then it hits him. "Wait, you're coming to New York? Like, with us?"

"Of course." He mimics taking a picture of Isak, trying to close only one eye, but he can't quite keep the other open. "Must be there."

"Oh, yeah, right." Isak tries to appear more nonchalant now, letting out a small laugh, but it comes out slightly more nervous than he intended.

It makes sense. His father has been documenting all his work-related activities, that's the reason why Even moved in here in the first place, but Isak hasn't worked with his father in a little while, and the possibility of Even joining them on this business trip hadn't really occurred to him.

Alfred's eyes travel between the two of them. "Ah, New York is truly wonderful! But I haven't been in years, unfortunately," he says. He lets out a sigh, and begins humming to the tune of _New york New york_ by Frank Sinatra, swaying his head from side to side. Even's face breaks into a bright grin when he starts singing the lyrics. He actually sings along with him, and they both forget some of the words, mumbling them instead and cracking up when they do.

Even turns to look at Isak, raising his eyebrows as an invitation to join them, but Isak shakes his head a little. Even doesn't insist and he and Alfred keep trying to sing the song, but they are mostly laughing in unison now.

Isak tries not to smile into his mug as he takes a sip of coffee. 

(He fails.)

***

"By the end of the last financial year, our market share had reached close to 6.5 percent in Europe, as opposed to 5.2 the previous year, and we fully expect a continuous growth in 2020 as well."

The words flow out of Isak's mouth. He had rehearsed every single line he had to say because English isn't his first language, and he didn't want to worry about having to find his words—there was no room for hesitation. His eyes quickly study the faces of the people sitting in front of him in the conference room. He knows he won't get much of a reaction from them, not when there's still a lot of negotiation to be done, but it doesn't seem like he has lost their attention, which he knows is a good sign.

His father steps in, and adds "Our business is built on tradition, but also on the desire to constantly innovate. That is why we include young and brilliant minds like Isak's in our marketing strategies, to ensure our prosperity not only today, but also for the generations to come."

It's as though Isak can feel the weight of his statement, but he doesn't let that reach him, doesn't let it affect the way he stands. From what he is able to tell, the people around the table seem pretty convinced, and he internally lets out a sigh of relief.

 

Isak stands in the building's lobby, looking through his phone and loosening his tie, when Even walks up to him.

"Hey there," he says.

"Oh, hey," he greets back, and it comes out higher than he expected. He bites the inside of his cheek a little as they simply face each other, Even only about two feet in front of him.

He barely has time to ask himself what he should say now, before Even breaks the silence. "You seemed different in there," he tells him, and it doesn't sound like a reproach, but it doesn't really sound like compliment either, and Isak—

"Different how?" he can't help but ask, his voice quiet, his brow slightly knitted. He lets himself look into his eyes for a couple of seconds, but when he lowers his gaze and finds himself looking at Even's lips, he quickly looks back up.

"Different like...I haven't seen you like this before, that's all," he says. He gives Isak a little smile. 

 _Well, maybe it's because we haven't actually been around each other a lot_ , Isak thinks.

Or maybe he simply happens to be different when he's around Even. Or maybe—

Isak closes his eyes. It's been a long couple of days, and he doesn't want to try to understand what Even meant by that, at least not here in the middle of this lobby.

"You're smart," Even tells him.

"Okay." Isak immediately shakes his head. "I mean, I meant to say thank you." Isak has to stop himself from letting out a small whine, and Even's smile only grows wider.

"What are you doing this afternoon?" he asks him.

Is this supposed to be an invitation or is this simply small talk and he's being polite by showing interest in Isak's plans for the rest of the day?

Either way, Isak's answer is the same.

"I...don't think I have anything planned for the rest of the day," he replies.

"Have you ever been to Central Park during fall?"

 _Oh_. That does sound like an invitation.

"I haven't."

***

They walk in silence in Central Park, but it doesn't feel heavy nor awkward, not when they can hear chatter around them, not when they're surrounded by all these fiery fall colours, not when the air is so brisk and refreshing. Not when Even seems so in his element here, looking both content and peaceful as he takes shots of his surroundings.

"I don't think I could get tired of photographing this place," he says, turning to look at Isak. "God, these colours." 

"You've been to this city before? I mean, during fall?"

Even nods. "Like three times," he replies, huffing out a laugh. "You've been here often?"

"We've traveled to New York a few times." Isak looks down at all the dry leaves that crunch beneath his feet. "I've never really come to this place, though."

"It's a first," Even replies, sounding pleased.

"It's a first," Isak repeats, looking at Even. 

"Aw man, I think I'm about to run out of space," Even says as he grabs his camera again, and he's actually almost pouting. 

Isak bites his lip, hesitating. "Don't you think," he begins, and he sort of wishes he hadn't spoken now that Even's attention is actually on him, and he isn't too sure how he should word out what he wants to say. "I mean, since you've been here before and, like, you've taken a lot of pictures of this place already." He stops to quickly glance around him. "You could just...this time, walk around and not take pictures to, hm, experience it differently? With just your eyes and, like, other senses. I'm not taking pictures and it's really very nice still." He breathes in, not daring to look at Even. "I mean, I don't know, really. I don't know if that makes sense."

Isak doesn't know much about photography. Actually, scratch that. Isak knows next to nothing about photography, so he probably got this all wrong, and perhaps it was even rude to make such a suggestion, like he could possibly know how Even could better enjoy this place.

"You're right," Even tells him at last, a hint of both surprise and gratefulness in his voice, and Isak can feel himself relax a little, and he doesn't have to stare at that one particularly red leaf on the ground anymore.

Even puts the camera back in its case, and they start to walk again.

"I was thinking...you have to be pretty strong to do well when you're out there. Not everyone can handle that." Even ends up saying, and Isak realizes he's referring to his work when he says _out there_.

"Hm, kind of, yeah, I guess? I'm not exactly sure."

Truth be told, Isak doesn't feel so strong most of the time. It's quite the opposite; he's rather always trying to find ways to make himself feel and, most of all, appear stronger. It works, apparently, or at least it does according to Even. And that's—

That's something he can add to the long list of things he isn't sure how he feels about.

"Sometimes, I listen to N.W.A. when I wanna feel more tough," he finds himself confessing. "Like, this morning—I know that might sounds silly, but it just kinda works."

Even stops walking, causing him to stop as well. Isak tumbles a little, and feels himself flush.

"That's not silly, Isak," he tells him, looking into his eyes like he's trying to make sure he'll believe him. When Isak doesn't reply, he then asks: "So, you're into 90s Hip Hop?" 

"What? You're surprised?" Isak dares to reply.

Even smiles at him. "Pleasantly. You must've listened Nas then, right?"

Isak is pretty sure he has seen his name in some of the playlists he browsed through on Spotify, but he doesn't quite remember listening to his music.

"Eh, in passing, I think," he lies. Even raises a suspicious eyebrow at him before he starts walking again. "Not really," he mumbles. 

Even looks so amused, and Isak wants to both hide and tell him to stop.

"Did you know he's from New York City?" he says.

"Of course I don't know that," Isak sighs.

Even gently bumps his shoulder against Isak's, and the contact makes him jump a little. "Rhetorical question."

"Right," Isak replies, and nods more than is necessary.

"You should check his stuff out," Even says. "He has this song called _N.Y. State of Mind_ actually, it's from his first album which is, like, a total masterpiece."

"Will do," Isak says, sliding his hands in his pockets. And he really does have every intention of doing so, knows it will probably be one of the first things he does when he has some time alone.

"You know, I was actually listening to that song on the plane on the way here," Even says. "To get myself in the mood."

Suddenly, Isak remembers his little singing session with Alfred from last week, and he can't stop the small laugh that escapes him. "Along with _New York, Neew Yoork_." Isak almost sings the words, and Even's eyes go just a little wide and they look so, so bright.

He feigns a gasp. "No way! That song is exclusively for when I'm having breakfast with Alfred, I would never listen to it without him," he says, mock solemnity in his voice.

Isak rolls his eyes a little, smiling nonetheless.

He can tell that Even is looking at him, but he finds himself unable to look back. Instead, he pretends he hasn't noticed, but the pace of his heart eventually quickens slightly, as he realizes that Even's eyes aren't leaving him.

"Can I," Even starts, taking his camera out of its case again. "Take a picture of you?"

Isak goes still.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean...take a picture of you, you know, with this." He lets out a laugh, lifting his camera with one hand. "If you don't mind, of course."

"We're just in a park, though," Isak almost protests. "I mean, I don't think it's...relevant for my dad's hm—"

Even shakes his head. "It's not for that," he says.

 _What for, then_? He keeps the question to himself. 

  
"Can I?" Even asks again.

Isak can't come up with a valid excuse to refuse. "Alright," he whispers.

There's something about Even looking at him through the viewfinder of his camera, him being able to see Isak, but his own face, his eyes, being hidden, that makes Isak feel particularly exposed when Even points his camera at him. He takes a deep breath, and Even doesn't tell him anything, doesn't tell him to smile or pose a certain way, simply takes the picture, like he's satisfied with Isak simply standing there.

"Thank you, Isak," he says, and he just sounds so  _kind._ It makes Isak's stomach twist a little.

The cab ride back to the hotel is pretty short, and surprisingly there isn't too much traffic. Even tells him about how he came to this city for the first time when he was only four, and how he absolutely believed that sky-scrappers could actually touch the sky, and his mother hadn't told him otherwise, and that finding out the truth a whole year later kind of broke his heart. Isak can't help but laugh a little, and find himself wishing there was more traffic.

***

Isak lies in the middle of his hotel room's king size bed for a good twenty minutes, his suit still on, staring at the high ceiling.

He just spent the entire afternoon with Even, just like that, and he hadn't even seen the time pass, and he hadn't—

He hadn't really wanted it to end.

He closes his eyes and sighs, and it's still _there_ , that feeling that goes from the pit of his stomach to the back of his throat. This faint warmth and excitement, like he's nervous, but in a good way.

Isak enjoys Even's company.

Admitting that is scary, but just right now, in the middle of his hotel room on the other side of the ocean, the fear of what it might imply is just not strong enough for him to not make the admission to himself. 

He takes his phone out from his pocket and searches for _N.Y. State of Mind_ on Spotify, and he ends up listening to the whole _Illmatic_ album. He sits with his legs sprawled out in front of him, his back resting against the bed head, bobbing his head to the rhythm of the songs. They're good, really good, and he downloads the album, as well as this _Nas: the essentials_ playlist. 

His mind wanders back to Even, and replays parts of their conversations in his head, remembering how genuinely nice and fun Even always is, trying to understand if it  _means_ anything at all. But he also remembers his own apparent inability to just act casual around him, and he leans his head back a little, letting out a small frustrated wail. 

Isak swallows. It's their last night here, and tomorrow morning they'll be on a plane back to Norway, and he—

He wants to see him again, to just see him here, in this city that's far away and, before he would go back home. Just one more time. 

The thought feels warm in his chest and he runs a hand through his hair, and then lets it rest on his forehead. He takes a look at his work phone that's on his bedside table, on which he knows he has his phone number, and he knows he's only supposed to text or call him for something that is related to his job. He's aware that, in fact, all his interactions with him are supposed to be work-related, but he still grabs the phone, his hand a little shaky as he holds it in front of his face and searches for his name in his contacts list. 

He begins to type, concentrating on his screen and his screen alone. 

~~_Hi, this is Isak Valtersen_ ~~

~~_Hi, it's Isak and_ ~~

~~_Hey Even, long time no talk haha_ ~~

> **_Isak Valtersen_ **
> 
> _Hey, are you doing something tonight?_

He stares at the text for a good minute, rereading it over and over again, and then he decides he would count down from five, and he does, and when the inevitable _one_ comes, he presses the send button. He immediately and quickly puts his phone next to him on the mattress, as if it were burning and he couldn't bare to touch it anymore.

"Oh god." He actually did it. "Oh  _fuck_." 

He gets up from his bed, and paces around the room, trying to come up with excuses as to why he'd send him this text. Is there anything actually work-related that would require Isak to see him tonight? Well, _shit_ , absolutely not. Or maybe he can just tell him that he meant to send the text to someone else. Yeah, that's probably the best excuse there is, it's something that does happen sometimes, it's the most plausible excuse and he would definitively go for that. 

But then he hears the sound of a text notification, and his heart starts beating even faster. 

> _**Even Bech Næsheim** _
> 
> _Hey you :) Unless browsing through netflix and youtube counts as "something", I'm not doing anything haha_

And then another reply comes.

> _**Even Bech Næsheim** _
> 
> _You feel like doing something?_

Even is the one suggesting they do something this time, and Isak can't just use his excuse now, and so he quickly tries to come up with something that would make up for his lack of coolness and casualness.

> _**Isak Valtersen** _
> 
> _I know this really nice club, that could be fun_

Only a minute goes by before he receives Even's response, but the wait still causes him to start chewing on his bottom lip. 

> _**Even Bech Næsheim** _
> 
> _Totally could be :)_
> 
> _The lobby in 1h?_

Isak nods until he realizes that Even can't actually see him.  

> _**Isak Valtersen** _
> 
> _OKAY_
> 
> _Shit that wasn't supposed to be in all caps_
> 
> _Sorry i didn't mean to say shit_
> 
> _Again_
> 
> _I just meant okay_

"Oh my god," he whimpers, burying his face into his hands. Even ends up sending him a smile and Isak can absolutely picture him smiling at his phone, and he can only pout at his and let out a long sigh. 

It was a lie, by the way. Isak doesn't know any nice club in the city— he doesn't even know any club in the city at all. And so he does a quick Google search, and looks through a couple of lists and memorizes one of the names that seems to come up more than once. 

_Good, good._

He decides to wear a pair of navy pants and a white dress shirt. No tie, not buttoning the top button. He looks at himself in the mirror and even rolls up his sleeves.  _That's a total cool look Isak, totally_. He repeats it to himself in the hopes that he'll eventually feel convinced. 

Even is already in the lobby when he steps out of the elevator, wearing a pair of fitted black pants, and a tucked in black dress shirt, and Isak feels both nervous and drawn to him.  _Don't stare_ , Isak tells himself. 

But then Even smiles at him, charming and welcoming and Isak can only smile back.

Despite not being of legal age to drink, the bouncer lets Isak in when he scratches his hair on purpose, putting his expensive watch on display. But he's quick to realize that although this club seemed like a "cool" place, coming here wasn't really the best idea. The music is loud and trying to make conversation is even more difficult than it usually is. They're sitting a the very long bar, drinking glasses of whiskey when Even asks, voice loud: "So, you go out clubbing often?" 

"All the time," Isak lies, nodding widely, taking a larger sip of his drink. 

Isak thinks he sees him smile to himself, and then Even is turning to look at the dancing crowd. 

"You dance?" he asks. 

Absolutely not. Isak does _not_  dance, he wouldn't put himself in a position where other people could see him try to move to the rhythm of a song, knows he would probably look ridiculous if he did and that is— that is, fuck,  _really_ something else he should've considered when he decided they would come here.

"Sometimes!"

"I love to dance," Even tells him, leaning in slightly, and Isak can smell his perfume, the one he's always wearing. He breathes in. 

Isak quickly nods, and then downs the rest of his glass, the alcohol too warm in his throat and he has to squeeze his eyes shut for a second.

He then looks at Even's profile, his hair that's combed to the side and his eyelashes and his jaw and his lips, and he finds it so hard to look away, but he doesn't know what he's supposed to _do_ now. What should and could the next step be— he's still having a hard time admitting to himself what he wants it to be, and he really, really should've planned this better.

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom for a sec," he says, because that seems like his only escape at the moment. He stands up without even making sure Even has heard him and heads straight to the restroom. 

He splashes water on his face when he gets there, the music still throbbing against the walls and in his head. He places his hands on the counter and lets himself zone out for a short moment, his eyes closed.

But then a group of guys barge in, drunk and festive and too fucking loud.

"Guys, she was totally all over me! Come on, you all  _saw_  that?" 

"Sure man, in your dreams."

Isak hears them laughing, and he tries to ignore it all, but it's all he can hear, these guys talking about these girls, about being with these girls, and being so cheerful about it.

Girls, girls, girls— _guys and girls._  

He takes one last look at himself in the mirror, can see how rosy his cheeks have gotten, and he straightens his shoulders before he gets out of the restroom. He starts to make his way through the crowd, can see Even still sitting there, and all he wants right now is to keep his eyes on him, just on him, and ignore everyone and everything else. He just—

He just wants to just go back to him now. Even's the only thing that feels familiar and safe here.

Isak's heading toward him, but then this tall man in his mid-twenties, with broad shoulders and intoxicated eyes, stands in front of him, blocking the way. 

He leans in. "Hey there, pretty," he says into Isak's ear. "Come dance with me." Isak's breath catches in his throat and he doesn't know what to do, or say. _No_ , he thinks, and it's harsh and clear in his mind, but the word doesn't come out and he can only shake his head after a few seconds.

"Not with you," he blurts out, but the guy doesn't seem to hear. "Not with you!" Isak repeats, louder this time, and then he has this exaggerated pained expression on his face as he brings a fist to his heart.

"You're breaking my heart, here, pretty" he chuckles after he leans in again, and his cologne is strong and overwhelming and makes the air feel heavier when Isak takes a deep breath.

Isak looks down and thankfully, he moves out of the way. But when Isak looks back up, his eyes meet Even's, who's staring at him, and his eyes seem darker. Isak goes still, swallowing hard. 

"Your accent is almost as hot as you, by the way," he hears the guy say into his ear and Even's eyes don't leave him. "Whoever's taking you home is fucking lucky."

And then he's gone. 

It takes Isak a couple seconds before he feels like he can move again, and he walks back to his seat. 

He just wants to not be as aware of what is happening now. He just wants to get wasted enough to get there, he needs to,  _that_ will help him stop fucking _thinking_. And so he orders a drink, drinks it all in one go. And then another one, and then—

Isak feels Even's hand on his forearm. "Isak, maybe that's enough." 

Isak stares at Even's hand on him, and this crowded place is so warm, but his skin feels cold when Even removes his hand. He orders a bottle of water for him and Isak's throat feels tighter all of a sudden, and drinking the water doesn't really help that.

"I think I want to go home," he tells Even, almost forgetting that the only place he can go back to in this city is his hotel room. Even nods, taking out his wallet and placing a couple of bills on the bar counter as he stands up. "Let's go," he says, nodding towards the entrance. 

Isak sits on the left side of the backseat of the cab, regret and shame weighing heavy on him. He's tipsy and slightly dizzy, but not enough to get over how much of a complete disaster tonight was, and he feels so guilty for bringing Even along, for not having thought this through, for potentially ruining everything. 

Even is looking out the window, fingers intertwined between his legs, and it feels like he's a whole kilometer away. 

"I'm sorry," Isak murmurs, and Even turns his head. 

"Hey, don't be," he tells him, and everything about him is gentle; his voice and his face and that faint, faint smile on his lips and in his eyes. It both soothes him and makes his heart ache. 

"I ruined it." He barely manages to get the words out. 

Even shakes his head ever so slightly. "You didn't ruin anything at all, Isak," he replies, his voice calm and meant to be reassuring, but the guilt is still gnawing at him. 

The city lights softly illuminate the high points of Even's face, and he looks so beautiful and Isak just wants to—

Without fully realizing that he is, Isak shifts toward him a little, slowly raises his hand and the tip of his fingers land on Even's cheek. They stroke down to his jaw, and Isak can feel how the stubble contrasts with the smoothness of his skin and he can't resist it, can't take his fingers off of him. 

Even closes his eyes as he reaches his lips, and his fingers simply remain there. 

"You're always so sweet to me." It comes out as a whispered whine, as if he means to ask him  _why_ he is, as if he's almost begging for an answer. 

"Isak," Even breathes out and it feels warm against his fingertips. Isak runs his thumb across his bottom lip, delicately pulls it down and he can't take his eyes off of him, completely mesmerized. There's alcohol in his veins, but this feeling has been there before, somehow, it's been trapped inside him—  It didn't appear tonight, it's just making its way to the surface now, as Isak begins to no longer feel so inhibited. 

"Even." His name sound like plea on his lips as Isak leans in. "I think I want—" there's a note of urgency in his voice, but then Even is opening his eyes and gently wrapping his hand around Isak's wrist, pulling Isak's hand away from his face. 

"I'm not gonna kiss you tonight." The words fall against his face as a confirmation that they did come out of Even's mouth, and that this is all Isak will get. 

He turns tense, swallowing thickly, and he goes back to his seat. The window is cold against his forehead, but it offers him a sensation to concentrate on, and so he stays like this. Tries to guess its temperature— ten, eleven, twelve degrees? He thinks he hears Even say his name once or twice, but he doesn't respond, and the rest of the ride is silent, until they get to the hotel and the driver tells them the amount they have to pay. 

Isak hurriedly takes out his wallet and he mouths a curse when he almost drops it. He takes a couple of bills out, probably too many, his hands shaking. He really doesn't care and just wants to get _out_  of here already. And he does, heading to the hotel without once looking back. 

He feels sick when he gets to his room, a throbbing sensation in his head, a result of what happened tonight. He tries to sleep, he really does try, his hand holding onto his pillow, squeezing tight, but he can't, he can't. 

***

Isak manages to get about two hours of sleep before his alarm goes off, but it doesn't actually matter, really, because nothing requires him to be particularly alert today. He sees his clothes from last night scattered on the floor next to his bed, a reminder that last night indeed happened and wasn't a bad dream he only now woke up from. 

His father tells him about how much of a success this trip has been, about how promising things look, and Isak tells him he's glad, although his tone conveys otherwise. 

Thankfully, Even flies in a different class, and Isak doesn't have to see him, but when he puts on his earphones and decides to listen to some music for the remainder of the plane ride,  _N.Y. State of Mind_ comes up and the memory of a smiling Even in Central Park the day before flashes before his eyes. It feels like the universe is mocking him, which he probably just deserves. He deletes all of Nas' songs, but the memory doesn't vanish as easily as he'd hope. 

 

"Isak"

He hears him call his name and pretends he doesn't, until he feels his hand on his shoulder and he can't help but quickly turn around. 

Even has this concerned look on his face, and Isak knows the little amount of sleep and the lack effort he put into appearing presentable probably make him look awful, and he just wishes he would look away. 

"Are you alright?" 

"Absolutely," Isak's reply is quick, almost curt, and Even just _stands_ there. Isak looks anywhere but into his eyes. "Listen, I've really got to go, but I mean, I'll see you around so—" 

"Babe!" someone exclaims and Even looks behind Isak now, and his eyes go a little wide in surprise. 

Isak doesn't fully register what is going on at first as a girl runs towards Even and jumps into his arms, plants kisses all over his face, on his cheeks and his lips. Even looks at him, his arms embracing her nonetheless and when it finally _hits_ him, Isak feels like the air has been knocked out of him. His throat feels tight and his breathing begins to turn erratic, but then he urges himself to get a grip. _Now, immediately_. Because if he lets himself go, he might crumble right there in the middle of this airport, right there in front of them, right there in front of him. 

He squeezes one hand into a fist, and repeats  _doesn't matter_ about twelve times in his head as he watches them have a conversation, something about how he was supposed to come to her place tonight to join her.  _Doesn't matter, doesn't fucking matter, doesn't—_

She then turns around, and she looks so beautiful, big eyes and soft features and short blonde hair. 

"Oh, hey!" She tells him, a polite smile on her face, extending her hand. "I'm Sonja." 

"Isak Valtersen," he replies, gently shaking her hand. 

"I know that," she says, letting out a small giggle.  _Right._

"You're still coming to my exhibition next Saturday, right?" she asks Even.

"You know I wouldn't miss that," he almost whispers to her and she smiles, tilts her head up and places a quick kiss on his mouth.

Isak is about to turn around and leave, but then her attention is on him and she exclaims: "You should totally come! I mean, it would be an absolute pleasure to have you there, obviously, if you're not too busy." She reaches inside her handbag and takes out a flyer. "It's good to always have these handy," she laughs as she gives it to him. 

Isak takes it, briefly checks it out, before he looks back to the two of them. His eyes meet Even's only for a second and then he immediately lowers his gaze. 

"Sonja, Isak's very busy and—" 

_Doesn't matter, doesn't matter, you have to make it seem like it doesn't matter_

"I'll be there," he interrupts, trying his best to make his smile appear sincere.  

"Oh, I'm super glad!" She claps her hands and grins and it's  _sweet_. 

They go separate ways and Isak doesn't realize that he has been clenching his teeth for a while until his jaw begins to ache. 

_I'm not gonna kiss you._

Of course, _of course_. It all just makes sense now, and it's just so embarrassing, how Isak managed to get it all so completely wrong. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little warning: isak gets tipsy on purpose in this, and then he feels sick
> 
> i know this chapter doesn't end so well, i'm sorry :( but these two (will) love each other, because they do in every universe. i promise, we'll get there! also, i'd really love to read what you guys think 
> 
> i hope you're all having a good day! i know a lot of you miss isak and even, but just know that they're doing well right now, school is over and they have all this time on their hands, and they're just enjoying life together and with their friends 


	4. Sometimes things are complicated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a huge huge thank you to [marte](judestfrncis.tumblr.com) who read over this chapter once again. you help me so much always, tysm for being wonderful   
> please check out the notes at the end for this chapter's warnings 

Isak is sitting with his back against the head of his bed as usual, and the single pillow he placed behind himself isn't providing a lot of support and his neck and upper back are starting to feel strained. But he has been in this exact position for over an hour now, and he can't bring himself to move.

He did manage to reach the conclusion that, all things considered, being into a guy was truly one of the worst ideas he had ever had.

Not that he had done it on purpose, not that he had tried to make room for Even in his mind and heart or something. He hadn't exactly sought this, but still, Isak had  _let_  it happen, had let him take over his thoughts. Ultimately, he had given in, although he should've known, he really, really should've know that this was not meant to end well.

Because Isak has been here before, back in high school, when he fell for Jonas. Jonas who was caring and interesting and good looking and his absolute favorite person at the time, and soon Isak had realized that platonic friendships weren't meant to make him feel like butterflies were soaring in his belly, that he wasn't supposed to get so worked up and hurt when he would see him with Eva.

That is without a doubt over now, though. Jonas is still together with Eva and Isak is happy for them, he truly is, and he has stopped secretly wishing they would end their relationship a long time ago.

Still, falling for Jonas back then had been a really stupid choice. Well, once again, not exactly a  _choice_ , but he had allowed his feelings to grow, and it ultimately only caused him pain and heartache. He did try to make the most out of that situation, though, and instead of letting himself feel too miserable and upset about it, he decided it would be a good learning experience, the example of what not to do.

Apparently, that only lasted for so long, and he had let himself be completely irrational recently, which is why he only has himself to blame for that _thing_ that happened with Even (he hasn't defined it yet, nor does he want to), and its outcome.

And it doesn’t mean that he’s—

He’s not _gay_ -gay or anything like that anyway. Nothing about him really is, actually. Isak knows the way he behaves isn't feminine and he doesn't care about pop culture and sparkles and glitters and shiny colours or whatever. He's into Hip Hop and action movies and football and honestly,  _that's_  what he likes, really, and the only reason why he knows about fashion brands is because of his family's stores—and he's not even into flamboyant clothing anyway. So what if Jonas and Even had happened, and the porn, and guys’ bodies, and guys, and guys and—

 _No_.

Being with a guy, being  _gay_  with a guy would lead people to assume so much about him, and there are already plenty of assumptions made about him because of his name, so he really doesn't need another label, especially not one that doesn't fit him.

It makes sense that Even has a girlfriend, actually—that he's not gay either and that Isak's feelings weren't mutual. Isak simply misinterpreted his good-naturedness all along. Even probably behaves the way he did with Isak with everyone, and the fact that Isak even suspected that his kind gestures meant anything at all had been really fucking pathetic. Even was simply being friendly, and Isak feels pretty disgusted when he thinks of the way he behaved with him in the taxi. That probably really weirded him out and he was just too nice to be mad at Isak for being so inappropriate. He really should apologize to him or something, but then again he mostly really needs to put this whole thing in the past and that involves not bringing it up.

Yeah, no, he wouldn't bring it up.

He just knows better, now. It had not only happened just once with Jonas, but also a second time since he met Even. He let himself develop feelings for guys two times, and it ended badly both times. That's two out of two, that's one hundred percent. If this was an empirical study, the result would definitively be that Isak isn't supposed to be with a guy (sure, the sample size is perhaps too small, but still, that conclusion makes a lot of sense to Isak, so he'll stick with it).

If being into Jonas hadn't been a good enough learning experience, being into Even will be.

All in all, Sonja did him a favor by showing up to the airport and not waiting for Even to get to her place, because had she not, who knows how long this could've dragged on? And Isak would've probably made a fool of himself again like he did that last night in New York. Fortunately, that's not going to happen now. It had been a good, sobering experience to actually see them hug and kiss, and now Isak can just go back to the way things were.

He takes a long, deep breath through his nose because his lips have been tightly pursed. He finally changes positions and goes to sit on the edge of his bed instead, feet on the floor and hands digging into the mattress as he pushes his shoulders back, but he doesn't manage to stretch out the tension as he does.

He should be really glad to have everything figured out so well, he really should be. But he knows deep down that these words he's been telling himself don't fully ring true. Because if they did, at least just a little, at least just enough, they would help ease the tension in his neck and lighten the weight on his chest and dislodge that small lump in his throat and maybe, _maybe_ he could actually get a full night of sleep. But none of that is happening.

It's okay though, or at least it will be. He'll just have to keep trying, and if that doesn't work, he'll try harder. Because this is for the best—it has to be for the best.

***

Alfred is already in the kitchen when Isak goes downstairs to grab a snack.

He seems to be cooking this evening's dinner as Isak drags his feet to the refrigerator, opens the door and takes a look at its content for over a minute, his eyes not landing on anything in particular.

"Are you looking for something, Isak?"

Isak shrugs and offers him a pursed-lipped smile. He really doesn't know, he's just looking for something plain and quick to grab and go eat in his room so his stomach will stop rumbling already. "Just a snack."

Alfred takes the large cooking pot off the stove and for a second Isak wants to help him because it seems pretty heavy, but before he can make a step, Alfred is already done, quickly wiping his hands on his apron.

"Ah, it's a pretty dull day, isn't it?" he sighs. "I think I have the perfect snack for the occasion, to brighten things up a little bit!" He sounds as enthusiastic as ever as he approaches the fridge and Isak steps aside, but really, he was just about to settle for a sweet bun or something and he doesn't need anything particularly—

"I made this strawberry gelato this morning!" He takes out a container from the freezer. "You get two large scoops today, I think you deserve it!" He winks exaggeratedly, chuckling as he does. "I won't tell anyone, this is our secret to keep!"

Isak frowns suspiciously, but he can't stop the corner of his mouth from lifting upward—Alfred is truly something else.

He scoops the gelato into a bowl. "You know what would go perfectly with this?"

Isak scratches his chin and apparently Alfred is actually waiting for a response, because he doesn't say anything else.

"Eh, like, whipped cream? I don't know."

"Hmm, I suppose that could be quite tasty, but it wouldn't exactly elevate the flavors! And that is exactly what we want here to make this day just a little more exciting—to elevate the flavors!"

Isak gives him a hesitant nod. "Right."

"I'm going to add a few chopped basil leaves. Ah! It's always good to have a couple handy. And just a drizzle of balsamic vinegar reduction. This is going to be absolutely marvellous!"

Isak frowns as he watches him add the ingredients, and his instinct is telling him that he is ruining the gelato.

"But isn't that...what you put in salads?" He asks as he points at the balsamic vinegar. "And...this," he continues, now pointing at the basil leaves, "Isn't it, like, for pasta and stuff?"

Alfred lets out an amused sigh. "Isak, Isak," he begins, putting a spoon in the bowl and sliding it toward him. "Just because you more often see these two ingredients used like that, it doesn't mean that they can't be used in other ways! You have to be a little more open minded and think outside the box—take some risks, sometimes. Sure, it might not always end so well...like that one time I, hm, mixed smoked paprika into, eh—actually that's besides the point!" he exclaims, clapping his hands together. "What I mean to say is that you shouldn't limit yourself to how you  _think_  ingredients should be used. Sometimes, some combinations might sound a little odd to you at first, and you think to yourself that they shouldn't really go together, but when you do put them together, they work really well! They fit and they are even better together! They bring out the best in each other! And when that happens, Isak, that is truly such a wonderful thing, so why question it?"

Alfred puts his hands on his hips, nodding to himself, seeming pretty satisfied with his...oddly profound explanation about the merits of, well, adding a balsamic reduction and basil leaves to strawberry gelato.

He seems to be waiting for Isak to have a taste, and Isak tentatively brings a spoonful to his mouth and it's...really good? It's refreshing and sweet and the mix of flavors is not off-putting at all, quite the opposite.

"That's amazing," he says. "Thank you for that."

"It's a real pleasure," Alfred replies sincerely. "Well! I am going to go now, and come back to finish up diner later. Bon appétit, Isak!" he then says, hanging his apron.

"Wait!" Isak tells him as he's about to leave. "There's plenty—why don't you have a bowl too? I mean, with me."

Alfred turns around and his smile is appreciative and mostly in his eyes. "Oh, I'd love that, Isak."

And so, Alfred prepares the same bowl of gelato that he did for Isak, but for himself this time. He sits opposite him and tells Isak about his grand-niece's upcoming fifth birthday, and how he wants to bake her the biggest chocolate cake she's ever seen, with a horse on it, because apparently, she's a huge fan of horses. Isak lets him talk, lets him fill the silence and it's nice, really, to not have to worry about saying something, about saying the right thing. 

Isak remembers how Even had been the first one to ask Alfred to join them for a meal, how he had been the one who had helped get rid of whatever barrier had always prevented Isak from actually sharing meals with the cook. He tries to tell himself that the reason why his following mouthful is a little bit harder to swallow has nothing to do with the fact that he might miss Even's presence, that it's only because it's really cold. He just tries.

***

Isak feels like a child as he knocks on his parents' bedroom door, calling his mother's name.

She's lying in the bed when he comes in, tucked under thick covers. Isak sighs silently and walks over to the left side of the bed, where she can see him as he kneels down. "Hey mom," he whispers.

"Oh, Isak," she whispers back, her voice smaller and higher and there's tiredness in it and in her eyes.

He found out that her psychiatrist had switched up some of her medication when he came back from the trip, and he knows that the new ones she has been taking have been making her feel particularly lethargic. He knows it's one of their potential side-effects, he has read all about it, but he still wishes his mother didn't have to experience it, at least not to that extent. It had been deemed safe for her to stay home, and Isak knows that there were people in their house checking up on her regularly while he and his father were gone, but he can't help but feel remorseful because he hadn't been by her side.

She had been diagnosed with schizophrenia when he was seventeen, and back then he used to wish she wasn't a part of his life anymore. When she would scream about the world ending at two in the morning, when she would burn his textbooks in the fireplace because she perceived them as unholy and dangerous, when she would text him dozens of bible verses a day, he would convince himself that he would be much better off with any other "normal" (as he would think) mother, or simply better off without her in his life, that having no mother at all would be better than having the one he did have.

At that time, his mother had to be hospitalized when her psychotic episode had become too severe. As she finally accepted to receive treatment, Isak had witnessed her starting to get better, and he had gradually realized and had learned to remind himself that it wasn't her fault, that she never chose to have her illness, that she wasn't to blame for it. 

He had also learned to understand that at the end of the day she was still first and foremost his mother, the one who had been there since he was born, the one he loved. Isak wouldn't change her for any other mother in the world, but when he sees her like this, when he's reminded of how her illness and sometimes even what's supposed to treat it can affect her, he finds it hard to get over the unfairness of it all, and he just wishes she would feel better, that he could just make it all go away. 

But he can't, and that's one of the things he has found difficult to deal with over the years—the fact that he can't ensure her well-being.

He slowly climbs on the bed and wraps an arm around her, kisses the top of her head.

"You work too much, sweetheart. You and your father," she tells him. "You're busy all the time."

Isak closes his eyes, a wave of guilt washing over him. "I won't be for a while," he replies. It's true, he has quite a lot of free time in his schedule for the upcoming weeks, and he'll make sure to come check up on her every day.

She hums in reply, and after a minute she asks, "Do you think God will always love me, no matter what?"

The slight hesitation in her voice, as if she's afraid of the answer, breaks his heart a little. Isak doesn't really believe in a God, has never felt convinced there was one, but if there is one, even hypothetically, he knows that God would without a doubt love his mom. 

"I promise you he will," he tells her.

Another minute passes. 

"Can you say a prayer for me?"

When he was a child, Isak would rest his head against her chest before bedtime, and she would hold him and sing him lullabies. When he would fall and hurt himself, only her embrace and the sound of her voice could comfort him.

Now, Isak is a young man and he holds her close as he recites the only prayer he remembers, the one he learned for his confirmation.

His mouth says the words but his mind is elsewhere, and he can't help but think that it would probably make her so upset if she were to find out that she had a gay son.

It's a good thing she doesn't have one.

***

Isak doesn't ignore Emma Larzen's name when it appears on his screen, and as he reads her message, he sees it as an opportunity rather than a reason to be annoyed.

> _**Emma Larzen** _
> 
> _Hi Isak! I'm going to be hosting a party tomorrow at my place, it's gonna be bomb :D_
> 
> _Will you be there? <3_

He barely even knows the girl, had met her at a cocktail his father hosted a few months ago. She's one of his associates' daughter and she seems to have latched onto him since they were first introduced. Their fathers had seemed to encourage it, not so subtly teasing them as they stood next to each other, until Emma's apparent embarrassment had been convincing enough for them to leave them alone.

But then Emma had pulled him aside and he had let her kiss him and he had even kissed her back, as best as he could, but when she had reached for his belt, Isak had grown tense, stepping away from her. When she had given him a confused look and asked him what was wrong, he had told her that they couldn't do this here, and when she had suggested they go to his room, he had mumbled that they didn't really know each other. And then she had pouted, and he had told her that they could, perhaps, get to know each other.

He never tried to get to know her better after that.

But Emma doesn't seem to have given up just yet and that's maybe exactly what Isak needs right now.

Isak hasn't seen _him_ in a few days, his father doesn't seem to have been working a lot either since they came back, and Isak isn't even sure if he's been staying in their mansion. He probably hasn't—why would he be here if his father isn't working on anything in particular?

Isak bets he's at his girlfriend's place at the moment, they're probably having a really great time right now, which is good, good for them, maybe they're—

Anyway, it doesn't matter at all. She's gorgeous looking, this Emma girl, and she's obviously interested in him, and that's—yeah, that's good for him. It's quite perfect, actually.

> **_Isak Valtersen_ **
> 
> _I'll be there :)_

She texts him a couple of hearts back, and those he ignores.

***

His father is reading the newspapers in the main living room when Isak is about to go out.

"Dad?"

"Yes, Isak?"

"I'm going out with some friends, but, hm—you're staying in, right?"

He looks up from his newspaper and nods. Despite living with him, Isak doesn't quite remember the last time he's seen him wearing a simple pair of pajamas. "I won't be leaving the house much for a little while, I'm taking a week off." There is a moment of silence, and then he adds "Your mother is sleeping right now, I'll go join her in just a bit."

There is a hint of reassurance in his voice and Isak nods. "Okay. Good night," he replies.

"Good night, Isak."

He knows his father rarely takes time completely off of work, and Isak can admit that it's a good thing that he did.

It's the least he can do, after all. 

***

They smoke weed in Jonas' bathroom before they head to the party, something about him not wanting to take his stash out of his place and how he'd rather smoke in peace.

Magnus makes an attempt to juggle with a small round-shaped vase like he would with a football, and Jonas barely has the time to shout "Dude, this isn't going to work! _What the fuck_!" before it shatters on the ground.

"Seriously, you can't be that high," Mahdi says exasperatedly, shaking his head.

Magnus scratches the back of his head, mouthing a "oops".

"Yeah, yeah, _oops_." Jonas groans as he steps out of his empty bathtub, in which he had been comfortably sitting. He comes back with a vacuum cleaner and hands it to Magnus. "Your mess."

Magnus sighs but doesn't protest, and he begins to clean up.

"You think Ronaldo could make this work?" he yells over the sound of the vacuum. "I feel like he could've totally made this work!"

"Ronaldo can't make porcelain not break when it falls like that, Magnus," Isak replies. "It's not strong enough to absorb the kinetic energy it accumulates before it hits the ground so like...this," he adds, pointing at the now almost fully cleaned floor, "Is bound to happen."

Magnus squints his eyes a little. "Not sure I understood, but that sounded smart."

"Isak's smart," Mahdi says proudly. "At least smarter than you."

"Aw, man." Magnus pouts. "But, like, I agree."

Isak can't help but huff out a laugh. "Thanks guys. That's just basic physics, though."

"Alright, alright Isaac Newton," Magnus says as he turns off the vacuum, jokingly rolling his eyes (he asks "That's that one dude, right?" and then nods and replies to himself "Yeah, pretty sure he's that one dude with the apple who understood that gravity was a thing.") "Sooo, we're heading to Emma's place." He winks suggestively, and then he holds up the vacuum wand, brings it to his chest and presses his cheek against it.

"Oh dear Emma, you're hot, let's hook up." He then presses it against his other cheek, his voice higher as he apparently attempts to impersonate Emma. "Oh yes, Isak, you're hot too, let's hook up indeed." He places a kiss on the wand and that's when Jonas grabs it away from him.

"Jesus Christ, Magnus."

"Oh no, Emma! Jonas Is trying to break us apart! But I will come back and look for you! I won't give up on us!"

"You're so weird," Mahdi tells him, chuckling.

Magnus goes to sit next to him, swings his arm around his shoulders. "You're weird," he replies. "But seriously, Isak, she digs you, so like, be chill, give it a shot! Some lovin' lovin' would do you some good."

Isak gives a single nod and forces a small smile.

It's pretty strange, how comforting it feels when the boys nag him about being too uptight and untrusting when it comes to girls, to know that they believe that this is the reason why he's having a hard time being with one. He tries to convince himself that they're right, that perhaps, deep down, this has been his main issue all along.

Maybe he just needs to work on overcoming it, maybe it's that simple.

Maybe.

***

Emma is quick to spot him when they get to her place, and she's had her arms wrapped around his for the past ten minutes, clinging onto him. "I'm so happy you came for me," she says into his ear, her lips close and touching his skin.

"I'm happy I came," he replies, and then she wraps her arms around his neck instead. Isak places his hands on her hips; there's nervousness in the pit of his stomach and he tells himself it's just a good kind of anticipation.

Isak knows how to kiss a girl, knows how to move his lips and his tongue just right, can tell he's doing a good job by the way her fingers gently pull at his hair and the way she giggles and softly moans into his mouth. But he's also hyper aware of every step, has to treat this as a procedure and she's nothing but lips and a tongue against his.

They make it to one of the bedrooms and Isak loses count of how many times he tells himself _you can do_ this as she takes her shirt off, and then his. But the problem is that although he can dictate the movements of his mouth, although he can execute convincing kisses, he can't _pretend_ arousal, it's not something he can make himself feel by sheer willpower.

The confirmation of what the little voice in the back of his mind had suspected for a while is daunting, and it only makes itself louder and clearer right now.

_It's not going to work. You can't get it up, Isak, you can't._

His chest feels constricted and he can't go on. He stops moving and Emma progressively does, too.

She makes a small step back, her fingers still interlaced behind his neck, and she looks at him with furrowed brows. "What's going on?" she asks.

He blinks and swallows and brings a hand to his forehead, pretending to wince. "I think—I think I have a really bad headache."

"Now?" she complains.

Isak lets out a small pained groan and nods. "Yeah"

Her arms are now crossed against her chest. "You're acting strange," she accuses, and it worries him, how unconvinced she seems. It's like she's a lifebelt he's been tightly holding onto and it's slipping from his grip and he isn't quite sure how he's supposed to stay afloat without it. He needs to bring it back before it drifts too far away.

"Sunday," he begins, and he feels like he's slowly catching his breath. "I'm going to this exhibition and I'd—I'd really love for you to come with me."

Someone knocks on the door and calls her name as she's about to answer him. "Just a second!" she tells them. Her eyes are still on Isak and he tries to offer her a smile that's as genuine as possible.

"I'd love to," she replies at last, smiling back. She seems pleased with the invitation, that little voice goes silent for now, and Isak feels both dizzy and relieved.

***

His mother is sitting at her desk when he goes to see her. She's wearing a comfortable looking bathrobe and her hair is up and Isak can vaguely hear the sound of a video playing on her computer. 

"Isak, hi," she tells him, a faint smile on her face. 

"Hi mom," he replies, placing a hand on her shoulder as he stands behind her. "What's that?" he asks when he sees footage of plants and flowers on her screen.

"Oh, it's just...they show you how to grow gardens. I think it's lovely, I'd like to start my own next summer," she tells him, turning her head and looking up at him. 

"We can definitively do that," he tells her softly. "How are you feeling today?"

"I'm feeling okay," she replies. "I think I can go for a little walk, later with your dad. It's not too cold today, and the doctors say it's good to go for walks." 

"Walks are good, yes," he says. 

"And then we'll watch _The Sound of Music._ " 

Isak can't help but smile at that. _The Sound of Music_ has always been that one movie his mother enjoys watching over and over again. He regularly finds her singing and humming the songs from its soundtrack, and every time he's reminded of how much he loves the sound of her voice. Isak probably remembers all the songs, although he's only watched the movie once or twice with her when he was a kid. 

"That sounds fun," he says. "You guys should make popcorn for when you watch it." 

"Oh, we'll have lots of popcorn."

" _Lots_ of popcorn," Isak repeats seriously, before he lets out a little laugh, and then his mother does, too. 

He thinks to himself that he's really glad to see her like this, and he gives her shoulder a very gentle squeeze. "I'm going out in a little bit." 

"Where are you going?"

"To a, eh, exhibition thing? I'm going with, hm, this girl." He scratches the back of his neck.

"Ooh, is she nice?" she asks, and there's a bit of a spark in her voice.

Isak barely knows Emma, can't tell for sure if she's a nice girl, but she doesn't exactly seem like she isn't, either. He tells himself he should maintain a positive attitude when it comes to her, should try to make this work as best as he can. She did gladly accept his invitation after he decided not to hook up with her, and well, he decides that it was actually nice of her.

"She is." 

His mother rests her hand on top of his. "That's a good thing, sweetheart. You deserve someone nice."

She seems happy for him and, in that moment, nothing else matters.

***

Emma is wearing a burgundy cocktail dress under her trench coat when he goes to pick her up, and she looks as gorgeous as ever. She grins and kisses him, and her hand remains on his thigh throughout the car ride to the art gallery. 

It's been good, not seeing Even for a week. It had given him time to digest whatever feelings he had developed, to take a step back and realize just how much he didn't need this in his life right now. He didn't feel any type of resentment toward him, not at all, because once again he hadn't _done_ anything wrong. This had all been on Isak, and the one feeling that has persisted throughout this week and that he still hasn't been able to get rid of yet, is embarrassment. 

But he won't let that show, obviously—tonight is an opportunity to prove to Even and also himself just how fine and normal things are now, and he knows it will all go well. He had stood in front of his mirror before he left, had pictured Even being in the same room as him, talking to him, to make sure it wouldn't cause any changes to his face, had tried talking to make sure it wouldn't cause any changes to his voice either. He already knows how he will greet him and his girlfriend, already knows how he will introduce Emma. He has it all planned out really well.

He has experience introducing himself and talking to really powerful and important people, there is absolutely no reason why he would have any issue doing it tonight. 

"This is going to be so nice, I feel," she says when they get out of his car. "I'm so happy you took me with you." 

"I'm happy I took you with me," he replies, and he is—there's something reassuring about going in there with someone by his side, with concrete proof that the way he had behaved with Even had been meaningless, after all.

She places two kisses along his jaw, and they go inside. 

There is a pretty considerable crowd of people already present, and the thing is that Isak doesn't exactly _search_  for him, at least not consciously, but he hasn't been there for a minute and his eyes already land on him. 

He sees him having an animated conversation with a group of people, his girlfriend by his side. He sees the rolled up sleeves of his dress shirt, sees the way his hands move as he talks, sees his perfectly coiffed hair, sees how tall he stands. He sees his huge smile and the glowing look on his face, sees how he throws his head back a little as he laughs, sees how his Adam's apple and jaw stand out when he does. He actually _sees_ Even and it's so different from simply picturing him in his head, and he doesn't know how long he's been staring at him, because it feels as though time has suddenly stopped. He's  _all_ he can see. 

It almost feels like a punch in the gut and it's just not—it's not what he expected. It's not supposed to go this way, this is supposed to be fine,  _he'_ s supposed to be fine. 

He inhales sharply through his nose, his lips pursed. 

"Oh my! Look at that one!" he hears Emma exclaim, and suddenly it's like he snaps back to reality, and the room isn't so silent and still anymore. She takes his hand and walks toward the painting she's been pointing at and Isak simply follows her, trying to clear out his mind as he does. 

It's a huge painting of a girl lying down on her side, wearing a dress painted with dark warm colours and that flows well past her feet to covers the lower half of the canvas.

"It's so gorgeous, I love it," Emma whispers, leaning toward it.

It does look incredible. Sonja is a very, very talented and artistic girl.

"You're gorgeous," he replies, squeezing her hand. She rolls her eyes, but Isak can still see the slight blush on her cheeks and god, he's so thankful she's here, and he thinks that it can all go really well if he can just make sure she has a good time tonight.

"Attention everyone!" 

Isak hears the sound of someone tapping a glass with a spoon and when he turns around, he sees Sonja standing in the centre of the gallery as she exclaims "I would like to say a little something!" 

The room goes silent and she begins her speech. "First of all, I would like to thank you all so much for coming here tonight, my family and friends and everyone else who decided to give my art a chance. It truly means so much." She places a hand on her chest and bows down a little, and then she turns to her left. "A special thank you to the most wonderful guy," she says, looking in Even's direction. "Who's encouraged me from the start, thank you for your support throughout the years, Even." 

People are clapping, and with some delay, Isak does as well. She outstretches her arm and he walks up to her, places a kiss on her cheek as he wraps an arm around her. 

Years _. Okay._

The way he looks at her, with both fondness and admiration.  _Okay._

Even looks around the room and then their eyes meet, and it shouldn't come as too much of a surprise, since they're two of the tallest people here, and there aren't  _that_ many people, but Isak doesn't quite expect it and he lowers his gaze instantly, like a child who's been caught peeking at something forbidden.

His heart is racing and he hates how it's not something he can control, but at least it's not noticeable, no one has to know but him. 

"She's so talented," Emma says, sounding amazed. 

"She really is," Isak agrees. She truly is a talented painter, and artist, just like Even is, and it's honestly just great that they get to be in a relationship with someone whose main occupation is art, they really did find a good match, these two. 

"I'm gonna go freshen up a bit." Emma kisses his lips, and she leaves before he has the time to reply. 

Isak stands there for a few seconds before he starts to actually look around the gallery, and even though his eyes technically see the paintings, he's not truly paying attention. But then he comes across this particular one and it's a portrait of Even, from the shoulders up. And Isak wants to argue that the edges of his face and his features are too sharp, that his lips and the tip of his nose are rounder than this, that the blue of his eyes is perhaps a shade darker, but it's clearly not meant to be a realistic portrait and, most of all,  _who_ is he, really, to have this opinion?  

It still kind of takes his breath away, the fact that she  _painted this,_ and although Isak doesn't fully agree with it, although if he was talented enough to be able to paint his portrait himself, he would've done it differently, it still does look beautiful. She spent time and effort creating it and decided she would showcase it tonight, and Even is lucky to have her, and Isak is glad he has her and—

He needs to fucking  _stop this._

He's gonna have to go greet them eventually, and he can't do that and appear convincing with all these thoughts going through his mind, this won't work if he keeps overthinking this way.

"Isak?" 

His breath catches in his throat, but he tells himself a firm  _not now_ , and he turns around.

And there he is. 

Even offers him a warm smile and it's one Isak has seen before, and it makes it seem as though he doesn't harbour any negative feelings toward him despite last week's fiasco, and _oh_ , that's a relief. 

"Hi, Even," he says, and it comes out just right, casual. "The exhibition is really great, isn't it? How have you been?"

He's taking the lead and that is exactly what he needs to do.

"I've been—good," he replies. "You?" 

"Really great, actually." 

And then, Sonja approaches them. "You came!" Isak is startled, but he doesn't let it show.

"Of course," he says with a smile. "I'm really glad I did, you're incredibly talented."

"Oh, thank you! It's really an honour to have you here, I'm so happy you're enjoying my work."  

"I am."

 _Where is Emma?_ He isn't supposed to do this alone, that's not how this is supposed to go.

Thankfully, he sees her approaching. She walks up to Isak, tells him: "Hey, handsome!" and then she actually notices that Even and Sonja are there. She raises her eyebrows in surprise for a second before a grin takes over her face. "You're the painter!" 

"You can call me Sonja," she says cordially. "I love your dress!"

Emma lets out a giggle and thanks her, and then she returns the compliment. "Talking about dresses! That one painting over there," she starts, pointing at the painting that had caught her attention earlier. "It's beyond gorgeous!"

"Aw, thank you. I'm glad you liked it—I loved working on that one." 

Suddenly, Isak is hit with an idea. It's a good one, he thinks.

"Is it for sale?" he asks.

"Everything's for sale," Sonja replies. "Except, well, this," she adds, nodding toward the portrait of Even behind them. She takes his hand in hers and lets out a little laugh before she tells him: "It'd be kinda strange to know that someone, somewhere, has your face hanging on their wall."  

Isak really doesn't _care_. He interlaces his fingers with Emma's.

"I'd like to buy it," he says. "Not Even's portrait, obviously," he adds playfully. "The one Emma loves." 

Emma lets out an excited squeal and wraps her arms around his neck, quickly kissing him. "Babe, you're the best," she whispers against his lips. 

He's surrounded by her, but all he can feel is his eyes on him. And maybe that's exactly what he wanted, to be seen like this by him, so Even could get a confirmation that what happened in New York truly belonged in the past, that Isak had moved on and was doing fine, that it didn't matter to him, at all.

But it doesn't _feel_ right.  

"I need to go make a quick call, I'll be back in a sec," he tells Emma. He nods at Sonja and Even. "I'll see you later," he says, without looking at him

And then he leaves.

(Finally.)

He spots a quiet corner in the gallery, with a bench and he quickly goes to sit on it. He places his elbows on his thighs and rests his head on his hands, letting out a long sigh.

Tonight is going very well, objectively speaking. His actions aren't betraying him, and he's projecting the image he's wanting to project, and he should feel satisfied. It all just makes him a little tired, constantly having to try, and think, think, think, but he's fine, really, he is. 

"You're not making a phone call?" 

Isak immediately sits up when he hears his voice, and he sees him with his head cocked to the side. 

"Busy line," he quickly replies. 

"I didn't know people still talked on the phone these day," he says jokingly. 

Isak swallows. "Sometimes things are too complicated to explain through text." 

Even seems half convinced, but he replies: "Sometimes things are complicated, yeah." He huffs out a quiet laugh as he walks up to the bench, and then he sits next to Isak.

"So, tonight seems to be a success," Isak says, looking straight ahead, at the wall facing them.  

"I think so, yes." 

"She must've put a lot of effort into this." 

"She did, but I knew she'd do an amazing job." Even says it like it's the most natural and yet awe-inspiring thing, like he's talking about how the sun inevitably rises every day. 

There's the thumping sound of his heart in his chest and in his head and he feels—envious. Isak is envious of her, is what it all comes down to, really. Of the fact that she's out there following her dreams and doing a fantastic job, of the fact that her and Even obviously belong together, of the fact that he's with her, at the end of the day. He's being so, so immature right now, and letting himself go and ignoring the fact that this isn't good for him at all, to have thoughts like these, that he doesn't have the _right._ But he can't find it in himself to deny it. He just can't right now. 

He looks down at the floor, and he can feel his shoulders slack. 

"How are you, Isak?" he hears. 

_Now? Seriously?_

"I told you earlier that I'm doing really great." 

He dares to turn his head a little and glance at Even from the corner of his eyes. 

"You did?" he asks quietly, and the look on his face is both soft and questioning. 

"Well, yeah, I mean, obviously you're not going to remember everything I say, are you?" he attempts to joke, but he knows it doesn't come out as playful and assured as he'd like, knows the smile on his lips probably doesn't look too convincing.

"Okay," Even simply whispers, nodding. 

Okay. That's it, exactly— _Okay_. There's nothing more to add, so can this conversation end now? 

"It’s nice that you decided to buy one of the paintings. You didn't have to, though," Even then says after a moment. "I mean, Sonja didn't invite you expecting you to—"

"That's not," Isak interrupts. "That's  _not_ why I bought it," he says firmly, and he actually feels himself getting rilled up now. He stands up because he can't just _sit_ here next to him like this anymore. "I didn't buy it because I thought someone expected me to, or—or because I felt I _had_ to, I bought it because I wanted to! Because I—"  

He doesn't even know what he's saying at this point, he feels almost breathless, like he's just jogged up a long flight of stairs.

Even looks up from where he's still seated and he sounds apologetic as he says: "That's not what I meant, Isak, I'm sorry—" 

"It is what you meant! You just said that I didn't _have_ to buy it, that it wasn't why I was invited but I— I _wanted_ to buy it, okay? For Emma, because I really like her, and she loved it and I thought it would just make sense to buy it and—" And then _this_ , he really didn't want to say, really didn't want it to come out, but it just kind of slips: "Just because I fucked up that one time in New York doesn't mean—" 

But then he stops, his eyes go a little wide and he feels mortified, and his whole body goes tense. He takes a step back and almost stumbles. 

Even stands up. "Isak..."

He seems concerned and Isak can only shake his head. _No, no, no_. Even approaches him slowly, and then he's right in front of him, and Isak feels warmth everywhere, from within him and from Even being so close.

"Please don't." His voice is only a whisper, but it's still pleading. "I didn't say anything, I didn't—" 

"Isak," Even repeats, and the proximity between them makes it possible for Isak to feel his breath against his skin, and he doesn't understand why Even is being like this again, gentle and careful and just _there_ , he doesn't understand any of this and he's at complete loss for words. 

And he swears he can feel Even's fingers brushing against his, and then barely grabbing them. But then he hears the click of heels approaching, and he quickly steps away from him.

"What are you two doing, hiding in there?" he hears Emma ask teasingly, and he can't help but let out a murmured  _fuck_ as he realizes that  _she's_ here.

It's so, so incredibly stupid because he feels like he might be on the verge of tearing up, because Emma doesn't feel like the lifebelt that's keeping him afloat right now, she feels like the anchor that's dragging him even further down. He blinks furiously because he needs to reply to her already, he needs to quickly regain his composure.

But then Even is the one talking. "We were just discussing something work-related," he tells her, and it comes out naturally. His eyes go from her and then back to Isak. "We were almost finished." 

"Oh, I didn't know you two worked together!" 

She walks up to him from behind, and interlaces her fingers with his, but all he feels is the ghost of Even's touch. 

"Not exactly together," he tells her. "He's working on a project with my dad." 

"Oh, that's cool!" Isak hasn't been looking at her, and she seems to suspect that something might be wrong. "You alright?" she asks him.

"Perfect," he replies, now looking at her and offering her a small smile. "Did you want to go take a look at some of the painting again?" he asks her. 

"Sure," she replies. There's a sweetness in her eyes, and Isak thinks that he doesn't deserve it. 

Isak doesn't once look at Even for the rest of the night, and there's a tightness in his chest that he can't get rid of. Later, he goes to quickly thank Sonja for the invitation, and he isn't by her side. 

He drives Emma back to her place, and he doesn't even have to make up an excuse to not spend the night with her, because she's the one telling him that she has an early morning appointment the next day. They still make out in his car a little, and she seems happy and pleased when she leaves. 

Isak can still feel her on his lips on his way home, but it tastes bitter. He knows how to kiss girls, but he doesn't think he ever wants to kiss one again.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for this chapter: isak's internalized homophobia (there are obviously a lot of his thoughts that i don't personally agree with), his mother's mental illness, and his (past) ableism  
> thank you so so much for reading :) and i hope you're all having a good day 


	5. You're gonna be alright

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooh, you guys, i'm so sorry this is so late :( i truly truly wish i could've posted this before, and i'll try to write/post the next chapters as soon as possible. sorry sorry sorry :( i'm going on a trip next week, but i'm actually going to have a lot of free time, so that shouldn't stop me 
> 
> once again, the biiiiiggest thank you to [marte](judestfrncis.tumblr.com) who read over this chapter, and who lets me share ideas with them. you're amazing 
> 
> slight warning in the end notes 

Isak thinks it's convenient that he doesn't have any actual plans for the day, because he doesn't feel quite brave enough to face the world right now. 

He doesn't know how long he's been lying on his bed, but his bedroom has gone from being completely dark to partially illuminated by the rising sun without him getting a minute of sleep. 

Isak has been trying to organize his thoughts, trying to make sense of them all, trying to figure out what he's supposed to do now, but he has been unsuccessful on all counts. Which leads him to where he is now, awake but tired and still feeling like he hasn't moved forward at all, hasn't progressed, because when he tries to, he either remains stuck in one place or he finds himself going around in circles. 

He turns to lie on his side, tries to stretch out his limbs in the process, but this new position makes him face one of the paintings on the wall opposite him, which immediately reminds him of...

 _Well_. 

He sits up and lets out a sound that's somewhere between a groan and a whine. Isak knows the average human head doesn't weigh much more than five kilograms, but it's as if his weighs at least twice that and he has to make a conscious effort to hold it up. He feels heavy everywhere, from his limbs to his eyelids. He's so tired it's starting to ache, and it's like every part of his body is longing for some rest, but his mind won't allow it.  

Because it keeps going back to what has been happening in the past few weeks, and sometimes even in the past few years. To his parents and work and what he's supposed to do with his life, what's  _expected_ of him. And Even and Emma and—

And his heartbeat will start picking up speed, and that, along with his thoughts, will keep him awake. 

Successive pings make his head jerk to the side, where his phone is, and he wonders who might be texting him  _now._ He takes a look at his phone and sees that it's barely seven, and also that he's just received a few messages from Emma. 

> _**Emma Larzen** _
> 
> _Good morning handsome <3_
> 
> _Just wanted to thank you for last night and for getting me the painting, that was sooo sweet_
> 
> _Miss you already, can we see each other today? :)_
> 
> And not even a minute later, another ping can be heard. 
> 
> _I thought I'd wait before asking you, but I just can't haha_
> 
> _My parents are renting this huge villa in Tenerife for a week next month, and I was wondering if you'd like to come? I think we could like have the best time <3 _

He doesn't read it all from start to finish, but the words  _see each other today_ ,  _villa, next month, come?_ stand out.

He didn't expect to have to face her this soon, hasn't yet come up with the proper words or actions to deal with this situation—Isak doesn't  _know_ what to do next with Emma.

Or maybe he does, actually, because it's obvious, or at least it really  _should_ be. Because there's no way Isak is going to be able to spend a full week with Emma and keep pretending he's interested in her,  _attracted_  to her. That's seven continuous days,  _nights_ and that's just—

Isak swallows thickly.

That's impossible. 

He runs both of his hands through his hair, pads of his fingers pressing into his scalp, like he's trying to ground himself, stay focused. 

"I can't do that," he whispers to himself, shaking his head. And then, in a more resigned tone, he adds: "I'm not going." 

And he knows he won't. He will come up with an excuse, he simply needs to make one up and let her know, and he will, in just a little while. He just needs a little time.

Isak takes his laptop from his bedside table, decides he'll just watch whatever shows up first on Netflix so he can have something else to focus on for now. But when he opens it, his eyes catch something that's been there for weeks now, but that he hadn't let himself pay attention to. 

On the lower right corner of his desktop, there is a folder named  _sky_. Isak knows what it contains, remembers walking back to his bedroom that particular night, SD card clutched in his hand, a faint smile on his lips that wouldn't disappear, a lightness in his chest that he hadn't felt in a long time.

With a hesitant finger lingering over the trackpad of his laptop, he ends up opening the folder, and there they are; the stars and the full moon they had looked at and photographed together. 

It feels bittersweet, because the shots look stunning, but they were taken during that night that—although he hadn't dared to perceive it as such back then—had felt like the beginning of something, like a possibility. But it never became a reality, nor will it ever become one, and now Isak is left with these pictures and the memories he associates with them. 

Isak remembers how Even had told him that he would photograph things in order to keep moments with him, which he can go back to whenever and wherever he wants, but Isak would like to argue that sometimes pictures are not needed for that. Because there hasn't been a single moment he spent with Even that he's been able to forget. It's as if all these memories have been stored in a single drawer somewhere in the back of his mind, and it's not one he can open and close whenever and wherever he wants—it opens itself as it pleases, and Isak has no control over it. 

Isak stops at a particularly gorgeous shot of the moon, and he almost can't quite believe that  _they_ took it, and that he is the only person in the world who possesses that picture. No matter what, he can't deny that a part of him really loves that thought.  

He gently chews the inside of his bottom lip, before he decides to set it as his desktop picture. It's ridiculous, and he'll probably change it the next time he uses his laptop, but right now he finds himself smiling a little at the final result. 

With a sigh, he takes his phone, and begins to type a reply. 

> **_Isak Valtersen_ **
> 
> _Hi Emma. I'm sorry, but I don't think this is going to work. I know it sounds really cliché, but it's not you, it's me. I would've said the same thing to any other girl. I'm really sorry_

He switches his phone to airplane mode, so he won't have to hear or see her response, at least not now, deciding to ignore the voice that's telling him that he's a coward for doing this.

He tucks himself back under the covers, as his eyes begin to almost close themselves. Still in a sort of lack-of-sleep haze, he allows himself to think of Even, of his smell and his voice and the shape of him, and how it would be to sense these right now. He finds himself clutching one of the sheets a little, and in that moment he feels slightly guilty, because whatever feelings he has are unrequited, because Even is a taken guy, but not quite because he's—a guy. 

He manages to sleep for four hours, which he realizes isn't enough, but it's better than nothing. It's a start.

***

Diner with his parents goes smoothly. 

He knows how special family diners are to his mother, and how beneficial it is for her to have at least a semblance of a routine, which is why they have been eating diner together pretty much every single evening for the past two weeks, at the same hour. 

"Should I drop you off at Agnes' tomorrow morning, or is she going to come pick you up?" 

Isak looks up from his plate. "Aunt Agnes?" he asks.

His father nods. "Mhm" 

Isak's mother takes a sip of water and offers him a smile. "We're spending the week at her cabin."

"Oh, that's nice," Isak replies, but all he can think of is how her leaving coincides with his father's return to work. He feels the urge to side-eye him, but refrains from doing so.  _Not now_ , he tells himself; his mother seems to be doing well today, and he doesn't want to disrupt her good mood by having a disagreement with his father in front of her. 

When diner is over and his mother leaves the dining room, Isak hesitates for an moment, his left foot tapping the floor, before he asks his father: "You're seriously doing that?" 

He seems slightly perplexed as he stands from his chair. "Doing what?" 

"You take some time off of work to clear your conscience a little and when that's done, you ship mom away so you don't have to deal with her," Isak quickly accuses, and after the words leave his mouth, he can't quite believe he's said them. 

His father's eyes widen for a second, but then he grows serious. "I really don't appreciate you accusing me of something like that, Isak," he says sternly, apparently wanting to leave no room for debate. "They've planned this week at the cabin for a while, and they're going with Laura and her other cousins as well before she gets married the following week." His father lets out a sigh. "Your mother is really glad to go, Isak." 

Isak remains silent. He can accept his father's response as the truth, this time, but he still thinks that his initial suspicion wasn't unjustified. Not when, for years, he's shown a pattern of spending time away from his mother when it seemed the most convenient for him. 

"So, how's your speech for Laura's wedding coming along?" he ends up asking. 

Laura is the only cousin he has on his father's side of the family, and as children, they used to share what resembled a sibling relationship. She's six years older than him, and Isak used to adore her—still does—but she moved to another city when he was ten, and they now mainly see each other during family reunions that take place a few times a year. Still, she had insisted on the fact that she wanted Isak to speak at her wedding. Isak had been honoured and had gladly accepted, but he hasn't really taken the time to write his speech yet. He sometimes tries to, but ends up feeling uninspired, not certain of the thoughts he wishes to convey to someone who just got married, and unable to come up with words to properly express them. 

"Pretty much done," he lies.

As he's about to leave the kitchen, his father stops next to him, places a hand on his shoulder. "Before we know it, you'll be coming home with your girlfriend, telling us that you're getting married!"

Isak feels an uneasiness crawling through him, and he wishes he could be back in his room with a blink of an eye. "I'm—" He shakes his head, frowning slightly. "I'm  _twenty_." 

His father lets out a chuckle. "I'm only joking," he says, but laughing is the last thing Isak feels like doing.  

***

  
They're hosting a shareholders meeting this morning and the coffee dispensers outside of the auditorium appear as his only source of relief. Isak woke up barely twenty minutes before he had to leave the house, after he had only gotten a few hours of agitated sleep.

With a large yawn, he pours himself a cup, and he doesn't add milk nor sugar. He vaguely remembers seeing on the agenda that the shareholders are electing members of the board and voting to pass some resolutions that Isak couldn't care less about if he tried. He already knows how to cast his votes, and thankfully he won't have to speak in front of the audience today. Isak is mostly just putting in an appearance, and he's thankful for that, but he still lacks the energy and motivation to even be present.

Isak can sense someone walking up to him from behind, but he doesn't quite expect it to be  _him_. When he turns around, Even is standing there, and it makes him jump a little too abruptly, which results in him spilling some of his coffee on his hand and on the floor. Isak hisses, shaking his hand in an attempt to both get the coffee off of it and to cool his skin. When he looks down, he sees multiple large drops, both on the floor and on his shoes.

 _Fuck_ , he thinks, feeling like the world's clumsiest idiot.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," he hears Even apologize.

Isak doesn't look at him— _can't_  look at him. "It's fine," he mumbles instead, and he immediately searches for napkins on the table next to him. He tries to take only a few, but a whole bunch of them are just stuck together and he can't seem to separate them, as if his fingers aren't obeying him properly. Isak purses his lips, unnerved, and ends up simply taking them all, and then he puts his cup on the table and kneels down to clean the mess.

"Wait, hold on, let me help you."

Even kneels down in front of him, and Isak sees just the right amount of napkins in his right hand, sees it reach forward to help him clean off the coffee.

He shakes his head quickly. "I've got this."

"Let me at least—"

"I said I got this!" Isak repeats, louder this time, almost surprising himself. They both go still, and for a moment it's as though the whole world might've gone still as well. Isak closes his eyes, brows slightly furrowed with regret, cursing himself for not being able to just keep it together yet again.

His grip tightens around the now dampened napkins and he stands back up, and Even follows him.

Isak furtively glances at him, but then he looks down again. The silence between them is too uncomfortable, and Isak feels as though some invisible force is pushing him forward, urging him to just  _speak_  already, but he's cemented in place. He feels completely stuck.

"I don't think I could drink black coffee," Even ends up saying, sounding quietly cheerful, but mostly careful. Isak is almost baffled by his comment, and he can only blink.  _What_?

"It's probably better for you that way, I think I probably put way too much sugar in mine," Even continues. The truth is that Isak does enjoy a bit of sugar and milk in his coffee, but right now he views it solely as a source of caffeine rather than an actual drink, and he couldn't be bothered to add anything to it.

Even begins to pour himself a cup, and he then reaches for the sachets of sugar. "Do you think three's too much?"

Isak watches him tear the sachets all at once. "I think it's fine," he replies. It's not up to him to decide.

Even turns his head and smiles at him, and Isak thinks that the last thing he deserves right now is a  _smile_. "I'm sorry, I—" he begins, then letting out a sigh. "I didn't mean to be rude and speak like that to you just now, so I'm sorry."

Even's smile turns sympathetic and he shakes his head slowly. "I'd never think you were rude, Isak."

It makes Isak's heart ache a little, for some reason, and he doesn't understand  _why_  Even never brings up his odd behavior, never calls him out on it. It's as if he's not bothered by it, even though he  _should_  be bothered—Isak is so bothered by it himself, and therefore Even really should be as well. Even absolutely has the right to be, and yet, he just...acts as if he's not.

Even makes two small steps in his direction, and their eyes end up meeting. "Do you think," he starts tentatively. "We could talk, later today?"

Isak's mind is quick to rebuff the idea, and he opens his mouth to tell him that he doesn't want to, that he  _can't_ , but no sound goes past his lips.

There have been a lot of things on Isak's mind lately, he's more than conscious of it. A messy cluster of thoughts, each more confusing than the other, but none of which he feels like he could discuss with someone, least of all Even. And whatever he wants to discuss with him, whatever remark he has to make, Isak can't hear it. Even would probably be really understanding and forgive Isak for acting so strange, but Isak just can't hear any of it. He doesn't trust his reactions lately; doesn't trust himself when he's with Even.

"I don't—I don't think it's a good idea."

Even frowns ever so slightly, but before he has the chance to reply, Isak continues, decides he'll make the step instead of Even, close this topic once and for all. "I know I've been acting...strange and, hm, I've been really inappropriate and unprofessional with you. I promise I'll try to make sure that doesn't happen again." He stops, biting his inner cheek a little to hard. "That's just—that's all I want to say."

After a few seconds, Even ends up nodding, and Isak is so, so grateful for his lack of protest and he stands there, feeling like he might've just dodged a bullet. "Okay then," is Even's only reply, and it comes out so quietly that Isak briefly wonders if perhaps he only meant to say it to himself.

"Ah! I've been looking for you!"

His father approaches them, and Isak almost feels like he's been caught, somehow, although the way he's simply standing here with Even doesn't actually look suspicious at all, although he knows his father won't give it a second thought.

Isak assumed he was the one he had spoken to, but apparently his attention had been on Even instead. "So, when I start presiding the meeting, make sure you take pictures of me when I'm facing the people in the audience."

"I'll be taking multiple shots as usual, which we can choose from later on," Even replies. He speaks to his father with a confidence that Isak has rarely ever seen from people who work for him; a level of confidence Isak himself sometimes has a hard time displaying when he speaks to him. "I'll go inside to make sure the lighting is adequate," he then adds and Isak's eyes follow him as he leaves to go in the auditorium.

"I don't think I have to remind you, but pay close attention today. You know you'll be the one going up there one day, and no business class could prepare you better for the job than this."

"Of course," he replies.

Isak doesn't pay attention. He struggles to hold his head up and his eyes open, and so he rests his chin on his palm, and throughout the meeting there's the smell of his spilled coffee on his hand, and images of Even in his head.

***

"So, Barça versus Man. United this Tuesday—I'm betting on 2-0 for Barça, Man. United's defense is too weak this season, and Barça's attack is, like, unstoppable."

Isak has lost track of what Jonas has been saying as he gets his Xbox ready for a game of FIFA. "I mean, they're both making it to the round of sixteen anyway, so..."

When he's done, he goes to sit on the couch next to Isak, but Isak is not paying attention and he fails to notice Jonas handing him a controller. 

Jonas waves it in front of his face and Isak snaps back into awareness. "Yes?" He sees the controller. "Oh, right," he says, taking it from Jonas. 

"I just said Barça were going to beat your team because your defense sucks." 

"Oh, yeah."

"Yeah?" Jonas gives him a half-suspicious, half-incredulous look. "Dude, you  _hate_ Barça." 

"I don't know, I haven't...really been following this season, so, like, you know." Isak shrugs.

Football is usually something Isak and his friends follow pretty closely, and they discuss upcoming big games, trying to predict scores and sometimes teasing each other when their respective favorite teams face each other. It's truly something Isak enjoys, but his interest has decreased over the past few months, to the point where it has almost disappeared. 

"Yeah, well, your team won't win the title, you don't need to be watching to know that," Jonas attempts to joke, and Isak can only reply by huffing out an unfelt laugh. 

They proceed to select their teams, and Jonas asks "Hey, by the way! You never told us how it went with Emma at her party?" 

Isak feels an unpleasant shiver run down his spine and he looks down, but then he forces himself to look at Jonas and smile as he replies "It went well."

"Ooh," Jonas smirks a little, nudging him with his elbow. "What did you guys do? "

Isak tries not to clench his jaw too hard. "We did stuff, then we went on, like...a date." 

"A  _date_? Isak, dude!" 

Isak's response is spontaneous. "It was nothing." 

"I haven't heard of you going on a date, since—" Jonas seems to think for moment. "Shit, I can't even remember the last time you went on a date, that's how long it's been? How did  _that_ go?" 

He wishes he could find a way out of this situation, out of this conversation—this has to be the last thing he wants to be talking about right now. He doesn't know what to say either, and Jonas raises an eyebrow at his silence. "Isak?" 

"It went fine," Isak replies. He starts to tap his feet. "I suppose it was a nice date and all."

"You suppose?"

"Mhm." Isak is holding the controller more tightly than is necessary. 

"You know, we're not playing until you spill," Jonas teases. 

And Isak is so tensed now, he feels like he might—

"Let it rest, okay?" he snaps. "You and the boys, just drop it! Why are you so obsessed with my dating life? Literally what the heck is up with that?" 

Jonas' eyes go wide at his outburst, and then he looks at Isak with slightly furrowed brows. The only sounds that can be heard are coming from the video game, until Jonas speaks up, and Isak is immediately filled with even more regret. It sits too heavy in his stomach.

"I ask you about that stuff because I want to know what you're up to. It's like...I don't know what's going on in your life because you don't tell me shit anymore, all we ever do now is small talk. I don't know what else to talk about." Jonas lets out small sigh. "So, what's up with you?" he asks quietly. 

"Nothing's up," Isak whispers, can barely get the words out. "I've just been busy."

"Busy," Jonas repeats, nodding to himself. "So there's...nothing you'd like to talk about?" 

Isak can only shake his head. "Can we just play?" he asks, almost pleads. 

They play and Isak lets him win the first game, not really putting up a fight, hoping Jonas will cheer for himself and make fun of Isak for being so bad or something, hoping it'll lift up the mood. But it seems like Jonas couldn't care less about winning; he looks more disappointed than anything.

Jonas' eyes haven't left the screen since they started playing. Isak's shoulders curve forward, his back sinking deeper into the couch.

Jonas is sitting right next to him, and yet Isak still misses his best friend. 

***

There are over three hundred people in the wedding venue; family members and friends, some he hasn't seen in years, acquaintances and strangers Isak assumes Laura has grown to know over the years. Isak greets them all with a mostly forced enthusiasm, shaking hands and making small talk. 

Isak  _is_ glad to be here, for his cousin, to be present during one of the most cherished moments of her life. But there's something about this event in particular, this celebration of a life-lasting love that is just so foreign, and Isak feels like he doesn't quite fit here, doesn't quite  _belong_  here. 

He's sitting at a table with his parents, his aunt and uncle and two other cousins, when it's time for him to stand and make a speech. There's affection in his mother's eyes and she seems happy to hear him speak; there's satisfaction in his father's and he seems pleased that his son was one of the people chosen to make a speech. 

Isak clears his throat before he begins. 

"We are all reunited here today for the same reason...the food and the open bar." The guests laugh at his lame joke, and Laura shakes her head, laughing a little nonetheless. "I know this is the part where I share a memory that represents how great of person Laura is, but I think one of the things the people in this room have in common is that we already know how amazing she is—you two are, really. Although, this would be a great opportunity to tell everyone about that one time you decided it would actually be a good idea to take your father's car in the middle—" 

" _Isak_ ," Laura interjects sternly, and some of the guests laugh once again.

"No but, on a more serious note, Laura, you're one of the most extraordinary people I've ever gotten to know, and I'm so thankful I get to call you family. I remember how you'd call me your little brother, and I know I would act annoyed because you'd always ruffle my hair when you did, but please know that the feeling is mutual. You truly are the big sister I never had. I know we live in different cities now, and life keeps us busy, but I still consider you as such."

Isak takes a deep breath because this is the part of the speech he struggled to write. "I think it takes courage to embark on the journey of marriage. It's safe to say that this is one of the biggest steps, not only in your relationship, but also in your life. It takes courage, but it mostly takes a lot of love. And one of the things I'm sure of in this universe is that you have so much love to give, and that you deserve to receive all of that love back —and then some. It's such a special thing to find that one love that you want to experience forever, to find that one person you actually want to spend the rest of your life with. I don't know what exactly are the odds of finding those, but I'm so happy that you did. " 

Laura is holding her hands on her heart, visibly touched by his words. When Isak is done, everyone cheers and she blows him a kiss. Isak offers her a smile, one that actually comes from within. They look so in love, her and her husband, and Isak sincerely wishes them a happy life, believes that they deserve to have that together.  

As he's about to sit back down, he notices a camera pointed in his direction, and he knows who's face is behind it, could recognize him from all angles now. Suddenly, he's frozen in place, still standing while everyone has sat down. Hundreds of people have just heard him speak, some he's known for years and years, and yet that didn't make him feel as nervous and exposed as the fact that Even got to listen as well. Their eyes meet for a brief second but Isak takes a deep breath, forces himself to look away, to sit down and pretend he never caught him in the first place.

"That was beautiful, sweetheart," he hears his mother tell him. 

They eat their meal and Isak's mother tells them about their week at the cabin, and Isak is glad to see that she seemed to have had a good time. He catches up with his cousins, one of which introduces him to her new boyfriend who is currently completing his MBA and will be joining the family business at the beginning of next year. The genuine excitement he's expressing is something Isak wishes he could relate to. 

As time passes, people start to leave the table, to either go greet other guests or to go dance, now that the dance floor has been opened. Isak finds himself sitting by himself, lazily poking his elaborately plated dessert with his fork. 

He quickly drops the fork when he feels a pair of hands on his eyes. He immediately figures out who it is and he tries to shake his head disapprovingly, but the heels of her hands press against his cheeks just a little harder. "You have to guess who it is first," she tells him. 

"Jeez, who could it possibly be?" he asks with exaggerated confusion. 

She feigns a gasps. "You already forgot the sound of my voice?" 

"Alright, alright,  _Laura_ _,_ can you please get your hands off my face." 

Laura sits on the chair next to his, and she's absolutely beaming. 

"What did that poor cake ever do to you?" she asks, looking at his plate. Isak lets out small laugh. 

"Also, who knew my little Isak could be such a romantic at heart," she teases, a wide smile on her face. She puts a hand on his shoulder, gives it a gentle rub. "Thank you," she adds. 

"I'm way taller than you!" Isak protests. "Also, you're welcome." 

"Not with these heels," Laura replies, lifting the bottom of her dress a little. "You think it's fine if I take them off? They're killing my feet, oh my god." 

"This is your wedding, you can do whatever you want." 

"Oooh really? Even—" She reaches for his hair, her hand hanging above Isak's head. 

"Don't you  _dare_ ," he warns. 

Laura lets out a giggle. "So, how come you came without a date? A handsome, smart, kind fella like you." 

"Seriously? You too?" he groans. 

"Sorry, I know that was annoying. Besides, single life is pretty damn great," she says. "I mean," she then adds, wiggling her ring finger. "Married life too."

"Yeah," Isak murmurs to himself.  

Laura claps her hands, sighing happily. "Okay, this is one of my favorite songs, I gotta go," she says, standing up. "I'll see you later, yeah?" 

Isak nods.

Before she leaves, she leans in from behind to wrap her arms around his shoulders, places a kiss on his cheek. "Thank you again for being here, Isak," she tells him, and then she squeezes him a little. "You deserve to find the love you described, you know that, right? Whenever that happens." 

A waiter comes to take his dessert a few minutes later, and Isak has nothing left to distract himself. He takes one of the bottles of wine at the centre of the table, pours himself a small glass and drinks it in one go. 

Isak absently watches people dancing as the songs go from fun and energetic to loving ballads. He sees couples embracing each other, catches a glimpse of the loving gazes some of them share, but that makes him feel like he's intruding, somehow, so he looks away.

He can't help but start thinking of Laura's last words, although he doesn't  _want_  to.

The thing is that, objectively speaking, it's not something he needs—love. It's not oxygen or water or food or a roof above his head, it's not something he needs to survive. He can absolutely lead a life without it. It's just that...he wants it to be something he doesn't experience because he  _chooses_ not to, because it's something he's not interested in, something he truly doesn't care about or wish for himself. Not because it's something he doesn't allow himself to have, not because it's something he feels like he can't have, not because it feels so completely out of reach. 

Couples are slow dancing to love songs in front of him, and it's not something he can imagine himself doing. Slow dancing in the middle of a crowd at a wedding, slow dancing with— 

Isak swallows thickly, his throat starting to feel a little tight. His fingers toy with his napkin, and he wishes he was elsewhere. He realizes it's wrong for him to think that way, that this is Laura's day and that he should only be happy for her, should only be celebrating like everyone else. Today isn't about him, and he needs to get over himself and stop being so self-centered. 

"That was a nice speech you gave," he hears. He jerks his head up and sees Even standing at the other side of the table, and he feels a little breathless. 

"Thanks," he ends up replying, not sure if it was loud enough to be heard. 

Even doesn't add anything else, simply stays where he is, his eyes on Isak. Isak notices his index finger tapping the camera wrapped around his neck. "How about we go outside?" he asks. 

Isak's fingers pull on his napkin. "Why?" The word slips out. 

"To get some fresh air," Even replies gently. "I'm gonna go get my coat," he adds. 

He gives Isak one last glance before he disappears into the crowd, and Isak considers it,  _truly_ considers it, thinks of what it could mean, thinks of what could possibly happen if he were to follow him. But then he finds himself up on his feet, his hands holding onto the edge of the table and he just—

He doesn't want to think. 

Even is at the coat check and he doesn't say anything when he sees Isak arrive, but Isak notices him smiling to himself. They both get their coats and Even hands them his camera. 

"Let's go this way," Even says. He leads the way toward the back exit of the venue, and Isak simply follows him, hands in his pockets, trying to ignore the sensation of his heart beating high in his chest. 

When they get outside, Isak closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, lets the cold air fill his lungs. He hadn't realized how badly he needed this.  

"Hi," Even says.  

He looks as handsome and  _beautiful_  as usual, is the only thought on Isak's mind right now. Perhaps even more handsome and beautiful than usual, and so completely unattainable still. 

"Hi," he almost squeaks out. 

"I love weddings," Even says, making a small step toward him, a cloud of condensation forming as he speaks. "Don't you?" 

A lump forms itself in the back of Isak's throat and he looks down, sees the thin layer of frost faintly sparkling on the ground. "I don't know," he ends up replying. 

Even could be one of those people dancing, he and Sonja could be. He could be one of those people having a good time, he could be unashamed. Maybe that's why Even loves weddings.  

"I used to take pictures for weddings all the time." 

"You told me that once." 

"You remembered," Even says and there's a spark in his voice. Isak looks up and sees the smile on his lips, and when his eyes meet Even's, he sees it there as well, but he's unable to return it. Eventually, it fades away from Even's face. 

A moment passes before Even holds out his hand, making Isak frown slightly.

"Let's dance," Even tells him. Suddenly, Isak can distantly hear the music coming from inside the venue. He wants to shake his head, but he's not able to move. 

"You know, they always play this song." Isak recognizes John Legend's  _All of Me_. "John Legend's great. I was listening to this song of his on repeat this morning,  _Save Room—_ you might have heard it?" Even's hand still hangs in front of him, a sign that his invitation still stands. 

Isak stares at it. "I don't know," he whispers. 

"You don't know if you've heard it?" Even asks softly. 

His right hand is holding his phone in his pocket, and it seems like it doesn't want to get out of there, doesn't want to let go. "I don't know," he repeats. It hurts when he speaks. 

Even still doesn't lower his hand, and at this point Isak starts to feel guilty, because it's quite cold, and he's not wearing gloves. But there's still that insistent voice in the back of his head that wonders what is  _happening_ here. 

Isak doesn't  _understand_ , but slowly, his hand lets go of his phone, and then it's out of his pocket and meeting the cold night air. He reaches for Even's hand, the tip of his fingers brushing against it. 

Even simultaneously makes a final step forward and gently holds Isak's hand in his. He wraps his free arm around his back, and Isak's breath catches in his throat. Even is so, so close—he's  _everywhere_. 

Even doesn't make another move, and they simply stand like this. Isak is tensed and he remains motionless, not leaning into the arm around his back, but not moving away from it either, because that would also bring Isak closer to Even.

"It's okay to not know sometimes," Even reassures, the cloud from his words floating between their faces. "It's okay." 

Isak wishes he could just behave normally around Even for once. God, just for _once_. He wishes he could be fine right now, and just fine in general, and not feel like his heart might constantly be on the verge of cracking, like  _he's_ on the verge of cracking under—under all this  _weight_. 

Isak just doesn't—

He really doesn't feel so fine. 

"What if it's not." It's not even a question. It sounds like defeat. 

Isak is rapidly tearing up despite himself, knows he is because his eyes start to sting, and then everything in his field of vision turns into a blur. Even leans his head back to take a look at Isak's face, and when he does, he lets go of Isak's hand, unwraps his arm from around his back. And then there are two hands cradling his face, and when Isak blinks, the tears that gathered in his eyes run down his cheeks, and he's able to see clearly again. 

"Hey, hey," Even whispers, brushing his thumbs under his eyes. "Hey."  

Isak feels both embarrassed and vulnerable, like he's revealing a part of himself that was never meant to be discovered, and he almost wishes he could stop time and rewind, try to hold it together better. He can't remember the last time anyone has seen him cry, and he just can't bear to look at Even right now. He lowers his head, closing his eyes, which leads to new tears falling, and Even once again wipes them delicately with his thumbs.

"Just breathe, okay?" he quietly instructs, as he keeps stroking his cheeks. "Just like this." Even takes slow and deep breaths, and Isak tries to imitate him, tries to solely concentrate on the rhythm of his breathing. 

Isak parts his lips and at first his own breathing is slightly shaky, and there's this pressure on his chest that prevents him from taking a full, deep inhale.

"Slowly," Even whispers, so quiet that Isak wouldn't be able to hear him if he wasn't so close. "Take your time."

Isak's chest expands more and more with each inhale, and he gradually grows calmer and calmer, less and less tensed. 

"That's it," Even nods. Isak hasn't shed any more tears, but Even keeps stroking the high point of his cheekbone, his touch feather-like. His hands feel warm and reassuring on his face, and Isak forgets he's outside on a late fall night. 

"Come here," he then hears. Even's hands carefully slide away from his face as he wraps his arms around Isak's shoulders, gently pulling him in. 

He's still trembling a little, but Even  _holds_ him in his arms, holds him up, holds him close, and he gradually goes still. It's a closeness Isak has never experienced in his life, and it's such a foreign feeling, to be completely surrounded like this, by this comforting pressure, by another person—by Even. And Isak is normally cautious when he experiences things for the time, he would usually test the waters and ask himself if he gets to have this, would wait to give himself permission. But right now, this is unknown territory, and yet it's still—

It's still _right_ , and Isak doesn't have to think or evaluate to know that it is, he just has to let himself relax against Even and feel the heaviness being lifted off of him. 

"Better?" Even asks, mouth close to his ear. Isak's chin rests on his shoulder and he slowly nods. 

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, feeling the urge to apologize. Even probably didn't ask him to come here so he could cry and be comforted, but he's just too kind of a person, too good of a person, and here they are now. Isak hesitates before he starts leaning his head to the side, resting his cheek on Even's shoulder. 

Even runs a hand up and down Isak's back; it goes up as they inhale, down as they exhale, and although it's over a couple of layers of clothes, it still manages to soothe him. "You have nothing to be sorry about," he replies. "Nothing," he insists, his voice soft. 

Music is still playing inside, and Isak thinks he can hear Adele's voice. He doesn't remember the exact title of the song, but he's pretty certain it's one of her hits. "I bet that gets played at weddings a lot," he says, and Even's hand goes still in the middle of his back as he lets out a quiet laugh.

" _Make you feel my love_? Oh god, all the time, Isak."

The tip of Even's fingers caress the base of his neck in small, circular motions, and he probably notices how it makes Isak shiver, but Isak doesn't really care, still melts against him.  

"We're going to dance, because dancing is nice, and it's good for you." 

Even then begins to sway a little from side to side, to the rhythm of the song. Isak doesn't know much about the exact benefits of dancing, but he still follows his lead. His own arms have been hanging by his side, and Isak had lifted his hands once or twice, but he hadn't been sure of what to do with them. 

But then, Even reaches for his one of his hands, lifts it up as he interlaces their fingers and Isak places his other hand on Even's upper back. 

"You're gonna be alright, Isak," he says. "You're gonna alright, and you'll be smiling in some of the pictures I'll take of you, and in others you'll be laughing." Isak can't quite imagine it, but Even makes it sound like it's a certainty, and in this moment, Isak might just believe him. In this moment, as they move in harmony, everything seems like it might just be possible. 

"Okay?" he asks.

"Okay," Isak breathes out. 

Later, they will go back inside. Even will go back to taking pictures of the reception, and Isak will briefly go talk to some of the guests, to Laura and her husband. Later, Isak will go to sleep, his body tired from this long day, but still feeling like he's floating a little, like this might've been a dream, until he'll remind himself that dreams end with you waking up, not with you falling asleep. Later, Isak will smile a small, barely there sleepy smile into his pillow as he tells himself that it was real. 

But right now, Isak's head is still resting on Even's shoulder. Right now, their chests are gently pressed together, and Even's hand is soft and warm and safe and holds his just right. Right now, Isak breathes him in and Even's smell, the one he's grown to recognize, fills his nostrils, calming him. Right now, Isak can hear the sound of him breathing, chooses to listen to that instead of whatever song is currently playing inside. Right now, Isak doesn't worry about what happened before, and what happens next; Isak simply follows Even's movements, as they keep slow dancing together at this wedding. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: isak experiences anxiety, notably in the last scene of this chapter 
> 
> thank you so, so much if you're still reading this story, it truly means the world   
> happier things in the next chapter, i promise!! as usual, i really do love to read your thoughts on the story i hope you're all doing well, i hope you have the nicest weekend 
> 
> you can find me on tumblr [here](http://skamz.tumblr.com) :)


	6. Is there room for me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i...ended up being totally unable to write while away :( i came back on sunday and tried to finish this as fast as i could. i truly hope this chapter is okay, and thank you so much if you're still reading this, honestly 
> 
> huge huge thank you to [marte](judestfrncis.tumblr.com), the real mvp, who read over this even though i sent it at the last minute. writing this wouldn't be the same without you, i hope you know that 

In the morning, Isak's sheets are tightly wrapped around him, almost like a cocoon. Which is quite odd considering that they usually end up crumpled up at the foot of his bed by the time he wakes up. His head is nestled into his pillow as he opens his eyes, and he pulls the covers higher over his shoulders, fisting them gently. He finds comfort in the fact that he's surrounded by warmth, even though it's provided by inanimate fabric, even though it doesn't emanate from, well—

 _Him_. 

He allows himself a moment before he decides to check his phone to see what time it is, to see what might require his attention today. And when he does, there are two main things Isak discovers: the first one is that it's 10:37, and therefore he's had over seven full hours of sleep; the second is that Even has sent him a message.

> **_Even Bech Næsheim_ **
> 
> _Good morning Isak :)_
> 
> _I hope you feel better today, at least just a little. You deserve to feel good and happy. I hope you can believe me when I tell you that, I really mean it_

Isak closes his eyes, pressing his cheek deeper into his pillow, his hand holding his phone close to his chest like it's somehow turned into something he cherishes dearly. He becomes more aware of his heartbeat, a little stronger and faster, but the way he feels is different from when his heart usually starts to race—when unsolicited thoughts begin to take over his mind. Because he finds that he doesn't actually want this feeling to disappear. When he opens his eyes and rereads the message, lets the words and the fact that Even is the one who wrote them sink in, he finds himself wanting to bask in this moment.

He wishes he could find a way to express the full extent of his gratitude, how the kind-heartedness Even showed him really did manage to appease him last night, but he doesn't know how to without revealing too much in the process.

> **_Isak Valtersen_ **
> 
> _I do_
> 
> _Thank you_

_For being you. For being there when I needed it_. These are all things he wants to add, but he refrains from it because it would be too much. Even is obviously a very sympathetic person, and Isak still can't quite believe how good-natured he has shown himself to be ever since they first met. And although Isak really appreciates each of them, he doesn't comprehend what he did to deserve to be on the receiving end of Even's thoughtful gestures, over and over again.

He isn't going to expand on the reasons why he is thankful for the comfort Even provided him last night, why he needed to be comforted in the first place, because he can't expose himself that way. He wouldn't know where to begin anyway, what wording to use. Isak doesn't think he could be able to clarify and explain these reasons to _himself_.

Most importantly, he can't burden Even with that information. Even has already given him so much, way past what Isak should be allowed to expect and he can't push it, he can't let himself want more. He's going to be around Even because of his father's project, and _that's_ the extent of their relationship.

Well, maybe a little more—perhaps they could be good acquaintances? Cordial and amicable and _normal_? Isak is glad to have crossed paths with Even, he doesn't doubt that and maybe if he could just keep it together and never raise his expectations, then yeah, they could definitely be good acquaintances. That sounds pretty fair. 

Isak stretches out his arms above his head, yawning. He goes to take a shower, quickly grabs clothes from his closet, doesn't waste time choosing them, doesn't bother making sure he hasn't worn this particular outfit recently. Isak is feeling lighter on his feet as he steps out of his room, a little more ready to face the day ahead of him than he has been in recent times.

 

Alfred is standing in front of the stove, humming a song.

"Hi, Alfred," Isak greets him.

"Isak! Ah, it's good to see you!" he exclaims, turning his head around. "Tell me, how are you doing today?"

Isak takes a seat, resting his forearms on the counter, and he bites away a smile when he hears the question, when he realizes which answer comes to mind. "I'm pretty good today," he tells him. "How about you? What are you cooking?"

"Oh, that's lovely to hear," Alfred replies. He stirs the content of a pot, wafting the smell of the food toward his nose. "I'm doing good as well, thank you very much! I'm making grilled cheeses and a chilled tomato and basil soup to go with it for lunch."

"That sounds amazing," Isak says. 

Alfred begins to slice a loaf of bread. "I'm adding granny smith apple slices to the grilled cheeses—I know one might find it strange to add a fruit in a sandwich, but it really is such a nice combination of both flavors and textures! But you prefer yours to be plain, am I correct?"

Actually, Isak doesn't find himself rejecting the idea, instead wanting to go along with it. "Oh, you can put apple slices in mine too, I don't mind."

Alfred looks at him with a slightly raised eyebrow and Isak offers him a smile as he shrugs. "Well, then!" Alfred half-exclaims, half-laughs. "I don't think you're going to regret your decision, you'll see that it's quite delicious."

As Isak eats his lunch, he finds that this combination he wouldn't have normally opted for actually ends up being delicious, and he doesn't regret giving it a try.

***

"So, how have you been?"

Sana lifts her eyes from her menu, a little smile spreading across her face, making her eyes shine and revealing the dimples on her cheeks.

"Finals are starting soon, so that's gonna be pretty intense," she says, letting out a long sigh. "Honestly, high school was such a piece of cake compared to this. Med school is still amazing though, I wouldn't want to be anywhere else." She takes a small sip of her coffee. "But how about you? How's everything been since...wow, we haven't met up since the beginning of the semester, have we?"

Isak had gotten to know Sana in his last year of high school, when they were paired up together in biology class. And at first they would both act quite stubborn when it came to applying the material they were taught in class, but over time they had learned to listen to each other's perspectives, and had discovered that they ended up finding common ground more easily than they expected. They had also learned that they could understand each other by only exchanging a few words. 

Back in high school, Isak was popular by default, without actually doing anything to warrant his popularity. Quite a lot of students would approach him, greet him in hallways and invite him to parties. But he knew, deep down, that it was most likely because of who they assumed he was, because of his name, because of what they thought he had to offer. Students he had never interacted with, who were most of the time not even in the same classes or year as him would just seem so eager to befriend him, and Isak would find himself unable to trust any of them and their motives.  

Sana, on the other hand, had never feigned enjoying his presence in class and getting to work with him just for the sake of it, and certainly not because of Isak's social status. And so, as their last fall semester had progressed and Sana had started showing signs that she did appreciate having Isak as a classmate, it wasn't difficult for him to conclude that she was being genuine. Which is why they are here now, over a year since their last day of high school, still keeping in touch through texts, and seeing each other when both their schedules allow it. 

"Oh _please_ ," Isak scoffs, a little smirk on his lips. "I'm sure med school isn't that difficult." And what he thinks, really, is that he can't imagine Sana not doing an amazing job, that he'd bet anything on her ability to keep succeeding. 

"Not that difficult?" she almost exclaims, eyes a little wide. "Well, I'd love to see _you_ give it a try," she teases. 

There is a moment of silence before Sana says, more quiet and serious this time, "You're still the best classmate I've had, you know."

Sometimes, Isak will catch himself thinking that it wasn't exactly _fair_ that he never really got to make choices concerning his education, that he was always meant to follow a certain path which he wasn't supposed to drift away from. But then he counteracts that thought by reminding himself that it could've been way worse, that he _does_ get to lead a privileged life after all. That he really does not get to complain.

If him making a choice and deviating from that path didn't cause any consequences, it'd be a different story, and perhaps Isak would aspire to become something other than the heir to a business empire. But that simply isn't Isak's life, and in reality making that decision would cause so much turbulence, and he can't even begin to imagine his father's reaction. And all of that, just for the sake of doing something he only  _might_ enjoy more? It just doesn't seem reasonable.

"Who are you and what did you do to Sana?" he attempts to joke. 

"What?" 

"You just called me the  _best._ " 

The corner of Sana's mouth curves upward a little as she shakes her head, but her dimples don't show this time. 

"I said you were the best  _classmate,_ don't get it twisted Isak," she says, waving her finger at him, and then she pauses. "You actually really liked school and, like, what we were learning. It's really not that easy to find people who do, you know?"

Isak knows where she's trying to go with this. He hasn't forgotten how floored she had seemed when he had told her, while they had been studying together for a physics exam, that he had not only not applied to any science program in university, but that he hadn't applied at all.

It's something she would sometimes bring up, and Isak knows Sana means well, but he wishes she would just let it go. 

"Maybe we should order before this place closes, hm?" he says. 

" _Isak_ ," she replies firmly. 

" _Sana."_

She gives a resigned sigh. "Sometimes I just think you could do so much." 

"I already do a lot," he replies. He knows that's not what she meant. 

"I know you do," she says with a single understanding nod. 

Isak and Sana will nag and push each other, it's something they do and that can amuse them as much as it can make them grow, but they've learned to detect each other's limits, and they always try to respect those. 

And so he asks Sana about her plans for the holidays, and she tells him about her upcoming trip to Morocco. She then tells him about the university's basketball team and how she'd like to join it next season and Isak is quick to say that she absolutely should. He also learns that she wants to specialize in cardiac surgery later on and there's that spark in her eyes as she speaks. And when Isak sees someone like Sana follow her dreams, it's a welcomed reminder that sometimes the universe gets it right. 

***

It's 22:12 when Isak decides to head to the gym for a run on the treadmill, in an attempt to clear his head.

Since his lunch with Sana, it has been filled with  _what ifs._ Hypothetic scenarios in which he's not Isak  _Valtersen,_ in which he did enroll to university and he and Sana are both studying for their upcoming finals like they used to. 

And then perhaps in those scenarios, he would've been too focused to notice that Even hasn't texted him and that a week has passed since the wedding, when Isak last saw him (it's been a little less than six full days, to be more precise—not that it matters or anything).

It's just that Isak is rereading Even's messages to him, and then his own (ten, twelve times), and he wonders if perhaps his response might have been too detached, after all. Or worse, maybe Isak had ended up seeming ungrateful by attempting to hold back this much.

When Isak has the misfortune of scrolling up their conversation, only to find their brief exchange from when they went to New York, he quickly scrolls back down and puts his phone down. Isak doesn't think he could ever think back to that night of the trip without feeling a wave of embarrassment wash over him.

Was he even supposed to expect a reply? Probably not. What could Even have typed back anyway? _You're welcome_? It's not as if that would've been necessary—does Isak reply _you're welcome_ to every single person who thanks him? He absolutely doesn't, and therefore it's not at all unusual for Even to not have replied.

The thing is that, if Isak is being honest with himself, he just _misses_ Even. He misses being in contact with him. Do good acquaintances miss each other after a week? Isak wonders if he can allow that feeling or if he should make an effort to erase it, if it's considered appropriate. He tries to rationalize it, tells himself that it's okay to just want to keep in touch, that he simply wants to make sure that Even doesn't think he was being unappreciative.

But Isak knows that he shouldn't want to be in touch with an acquaintance this much, this soon. And his gut tells him that Even wouldn't think of him as unappreciative, that he doesn't have to worry about him reaching that conclusion. On the contrary, he would probably even try to reassure Isak if he were to express that concern, and perhaps that is why Isak misses him. Because that's the type of person Even is, and Isak just wants - 

He just wants to be around him. Isak doesn't simply wish to be in contact with him through texts at the moment. What he actually misses is Even's _presence_. His aura and the sound of his voice and his eyes and his arms and his hands on his face. 

And with that thought, Isak realizes that he just met another dead end. Which is why he puts his cellphone in the drawer of his bedside table, almost throwing it in there. He gets out of his bed, quickly grabs his Ipad and wireless earphones and heads out of his room. 

It's only after the door of the gym closes behind him that Isak notices that Even is already there, running on one of the two treadmills. He stays frozen in place, mouth hanging slightly open. When he snaps out of his initial surprise, he considers turning around and leaving, tries to estimate the probability that Even will be able to notice his presence, wonders if working out right now with him in this empty gym would be a better or worse option than Even knowing that Isak saw him and decided to run away like a scared little child.

He tries to quickly weigh and compare his two options: _this or that, this or that, this or—_

But then Even is lifting his eyes from the monitor, and when he looks at the large mirrored wall in front of him, he sees Isak's reflection in it. He doesn't even flinch, and a smile actually spreads across his face when his eyes meet Isak's in the mirror.

He continues to jog at a regular pace, and there is a split second during which Isak's eyes jump down to his body before he quickly looks back up, alert enough to remind himself that Even can see him. But it was just enough to get a glimpse of his lean arms, and back, and ass and, well, everything. 

Isak is _looking_ again, as if his eyes couldn't be bothered to follow orders.

"Late workout?" Even asks him.

He quickly nods.

"I have," Even raises his wrist to look at his sports watch. "Twenty minutes left on this thing," he says.

Isak turns his head to the left, decides to lock his gaze on that ten kilograms dumbbell he spots. He thinks he can hear Even breathe, like he might be panting. It resonates in his ears. Or maybe the sound is amplified because Isak isn't looking at him. He remembers reading about how when one sense is diminished, the others become more acute—but that probably wouldn't apply in this case, because his sight isn't exactly diminished, it's simply focusing on something different from his hearing.

Or maybe it's because they're the only two people in this room, and everything is silent except for the sound of Isak's heart thumping in his ears, and Even's feet hitting the treadmill. And _yes_ , Even's breathing, faster and louder than when Isak's head had been resting on his shoulder last week and—

Isak squeezes his eyes shut for a second. He really has been standing there for an absurdly long amount of time now.

He wonders if he should head toward the treadmill like he had initially planned, or instead opt for a different type of work out. One of the main reasons why he came here was to clear his head from thoughts about Even, and training right next to him certainly won't help him in that regard.

Would it be rude for him to not go train next to him? Objectively, it wouldn't be. Even doesn't know about Isak's workout routine, or his initial plan when he decided to come here. There were plenty of ways to exercise here, and how could Even possibly figure out that he didn't come to the gym to do a bit of strength training, or to use the stationary bike that's on the other side of the room?

(Isak never uses the stationary bike, but Even doesn't _know_ that.)

He makes a few steps toward that one dumbbell, but as he does, he remembers that the reason why Even had started to overcrowd his mind in the first place was because Isak _missed_ him. He remembers because although a part of him is nervous at the thought of approaching him, there's still that slight tug in his stomach that feels like it's pulling Isak in Even's direction. He feels impossibly drawn to him.

Isak had been longing for his presence, and here he was, presented with an opportunity to be near him again, so perhaps the right choice in this case would be to just...go to him. 

Isak swallows, his Ipad clutched in one hand, his bottle of water in the other, and he makes his way toward the treadmills.

"Hey," he tells Even.

Even gives him a smile, unequivocal and welcoming and warm. His cheeks are rosy, there's a little space between his parted lips that Isak can't help but notice and one strand of hair bouncing on his forehead, over the headband wrapped around it.

"Hey," he replies back, exhaling.

"You work out here?" Isak asks.

_Duh._

"I mean, I've never seen you here before—not that you can't, like, use this gym, you obviously you can, but, you know," he babbles, internally cursing himself with every word that comes out of his mouth.

The look on Even's face doesn't change, but he runs a hand through his hair, and that lonely strand gets pushed back. "We've just never," Even takes a deeper breath mid-sentence. "Been here at the same time."

Isak nods.

He begins to run, slowly at first and then steadily increasing his speed. Isak actually loves to run, how his heart rate increases and then gradually calms down when he's done, the rush of endorphins, the slight burn in his thighs, how he—not always, but sometimes—manages to shift his entire focus to his body instead of whatever is going on in his mind.

Tonight is not one of those times. Isak is barely even aware of his own movements, of the distance he's run so far, of his speed. He's nothing but thoughts and this tug in his stomach that was there earlier but that keeps increasing in force.

Even breaks the silence. "I don't usually use this gym," he starts. "But there's a brunch tomorrow, yeah? So I'm staying here tonight."

Isak remembers. Meetings usually take place at the office, but sometimes his father hosts them at home, in the form of brunches and dinners and cocktails, meant to be more casual and easy-going, although they never quite feel that way. They just reaffirm that, at the end of the day, his own house is an extension of the workplace.  

"Yeah, I'm going," he replies.

At that, Even smiles again, and Isak really, really doesn't want to assume that he's delighted by Isak's response, but he _seems_ to be. 

They run for another fifteen minutes, until Even begins to slow down, gripping the sidebars, and Isak follows. They walk for a little while, catching their breaths, and Even is the first one to step off his treadmill. He grabs his bottle of water and Isak tries not stare, but it's not an easy task to tear his eyes away from his long throat and the fitted shirt embracing his chest and the arm holding up his bottle. 

His throat feels a little dry, and he realizes that he should probably drink as well. And so he does, probably more than necessary, gulps of cold water that he can feel going down.

Isak still feels a little bit breathless when he's done.

"How are you doing?" Even asks him.

Isak can't help but frown a little. "I'm good," is his automatic reply. He begins to scratch the back of his head. "I caught up with a friend today."

Even gives him a single nod. "That's nice," he says. He doesn't sound completely convinced.

"And, hm, how are you?" 

He's not at all surprised when he tells him that he's doing good. Even always seems to be doing well, always has that healthy glow on his face, like he's that type of person that just has everything completely figured out and under control. Isak wonders how he does it. 

Isak sucks in his bottom lip a little, hesitating. But then his eyes meet Even's, and they're so non-threatening, so inviting, and he doesn't want to look away anymore, doesn't try to. He doesn't try to hold back the words that come out of his mouth either. 

"It was nice, at the wedding, when you—we...you know. I don't know if you saw my text, but thank you for that," he says. "I meant it," he then adds, whispering.

"I know you did," Even replies. He lets out a peaceful sigh, and something inside of Isak kind of melts, relaxes some more.

"Isn't that a little big and unpractical for the gym?" Even asks after a moment, half-amused and half-intrigued as he points toward the ground behind Isak.

Isak furrows his brow before he turns around and sees the Ipad which he didn't end up using. "Oh," he lets out. He picks it up and says "I don't, like, hold it while I run, obviously. That would be...unpractical, yeah."

"I figured," Even chuckles, and it's contagious. Isak can feel the corners of his mouth rising a little.

"There's a holder for it and you can browse through your music and watch movies and stuff," he says, making the last part up on the spot. He never watches movies while he works out, but it's not like he's going to tell Even that he left his cellphone in his room because it was reminding Isak of him.

Even raises an eyebrow. "Were you planning on watching a movie?" he asks, sounding pleasantly surprised.

"I don't know, I kind of...forgot I brought it with me," Isak shrugs.

Even looks at the time on his watch. "It's not _that_ late," he says, casually placing his hands inside the pockets of his training shorts. "We could watch a movie now," he suggests, shrugging one shoulder.

"Like—" _You and me_?, he wants to ask. "Hm, yeah, yeah, we could."

"Great," Even replies, pleased. "I'm gonna take a quick shower, so, let's meet in, let's say...20 minutes?"

There's this thrill that starts fluttering inside Isak, and he tries to contain it. "Okay," he agrees. "We have this movie room, I don't know if you've ever seen it?"

"Aaah! I was hoping you'd say that," Even grins. "I wanted to be able to go there, but I didn't have anyone to go with me."

The thrill vanishes like a candle flame doused by a glass of water and Isak squeezes his toes in his shoes to distract himself from the sudden disappointment that replaces it.

"Oh but, you don't need me to be there to use it, you can," he hesitates, looking up. "Just go there, like, it's not reserved or anything."

Even looks at him in slight consternation, quickly shaking his head. "What? No, _no_ ," he tells him. "I like watching movies with other people, is what I meant." And then he adds, more quietly, "I'd like to watch a movie with you."

Isak's toes relax in his shoes. "Okay," he whispers, not daring to reply that he'd very much like that, too.

Judging by the little smile on Even's face, he can probably tell anyway.

 

Even is standing by the popcorn machine when Isak gets to their home movie theatre. He's wearing sweatpants and a navy hoodie, and Isak can see how his hair is still dampened, a little wilder than usual. "Six year old me would've been so excited right now," he says, almost sighs in wonder, his nose close to touching the glass window of the machine. "Don't get me wrong, twenty-two year old me is also very much excited."

"I can tell," Isak replies, fondness in his voice that he forgets to conceal, not feeling the need to.

Even tears his eyes off the popping popcorn as Isak approaches him, and he looks Isak up and down. He's wearing a similar attire, but his own cashmere hoodie is grey. Even smiles softly at him and Isak's hands form loose fists in his front pocket. "I think anyone would be thrilled to have one of these at home, honestly."

"Not everyone would be," Isak disagrees, scrunching up his nose slightly. "People who don't like popcorn wouldn't necessarily be thrilled."

"Aw, come on now, who in this world doesn't like popcorn?" Even counters, head crooked to the side, eyes squinted like he's just been told the most absurd thing.

Isak innocently shrugs, and then he tries not to giggle at how scandalized Even appears.

"That makes no sense. _No sense_ , Isak," he repeats disapprovingly, but Isak can still hear it—that hint of playfulness. 

"It actually makes a lot of sense to me," Isak responds. "I—" He huffs out a slightly embarrassed laugh at the memory he decides to share. "I bit a kernel once when I was a kid, it almost broke my tooth."

"Oh _no_ , Isak." Even sounds obviously sympathetic, but Isak still notices the little laughter he's trying to hold back. Even purses his lips a little. "How's your tooth now? Did it recover?"

Isak actually wants to roll his eyes, wants to play along.

"It was a baby tooth, it ended up falling off anyway," he says.

" _See_ , it could've been worse! It could've been an adult tooth, and the kernel could've actually broken your tooth, and—" Even pauses, glancing down at Isak's mouth. "Your smile would've been different."

It takes a while before Even looks up again and heat rushes to Isak's cheeks, his hands kind of going limp in the front pocket of his hoodie.

"There are dentists for that," he murmurs.

"There are dentists for that, mmhm" Even repeats. "They help fix popcorn-related damage to your teeth," he then quietly jokes. "Among other things."

There is a short silence and Even bites his lip. It appears even plumper as his teeth gently sink into it.

The machine has also gone silent. "I think it's ready," Even says, as he reaches for two buckets. He starts to fill the first one, and as he does, he seems to inspect each scoop of popcorn. When the bucket is filled, he hands it to Isak. "I promise there are no unpopped kernels in this," he says softly. "I mean, I don't want you to feel like you have to take it, and honestly if you don't want it, it would just mean more popcorn for me. But I firmly, firmly believe that movies and popcorn is one of the best combos known to mankind."

And Isak just can't help but trust him. He takes the bucket at last, thinking that maybe he can associate the smell of popcorn with new, nicer memories. He feels like he already has. 

 

"I've never watched it."

They're settled into their seats as they browse through Netflix's movie library.

"You've never watched Moulin Rouge? Like ever?"

It's funny, how Even seems almost appalled. "Never ever," Isak replies, an amused smile on his face that reaches his eyes.

"We must rectify that."

"Okay?"

The truth is that Isak doesn't really care what movie they end up watching. He still can't quite believe that they're sitting here together, in these clothes, that Even would want to spend time with him like this.

When the movie starts playing, Isak finds it pretty difficult to keep up at first. Both because his mind is mainly focused on the fact that Even is _right here_ and because when he does begin to pay attention to what is happening on the screen, he sees a man telling a story that he quickly and loudly types it on a typewriter, and in which everything is fast-paced, and characters keep popping out of seemingly nowhere.

But then this man with the typewriter begins to sing this song, and Isak recognizes it. It's from that movie his mother loves, _The Sound of Music_.

It almost reminds Isak of when he was a child, and at first traveling abroad would make him feel somewhat lost, because of how foreign cities and countries sometimes appeared. But then he'd stumble upon these little familiar things that would make him feel less disoriented; candy bars at the store, songs on the radio, stars in the sky at night. 

Hearing that song in the movie kind of makes him feel that way. When he turns his head and sees Even, his now dried hair unstyled and fluffed up, his left arm holding his bucket of popcorn pretty close to his chest, Isak finds himself thinking that being in his company might also make him feel that way—just a little less lost.

It's pretty dark in the room, apart from the light emanating from the screen, but apparently Even can tell that Isak is looking at him. He half-turns his head toward him, and holds his gaze.  

"I know that song," Isak says. 

Even smiles at him. "It's a musical, there are a lot of other songs you'll recognize, just wait."

They watch the movie, and it's colorful and bright and there is so much (too much, at times) happening—Isak has never quite seen a movie like this before. The guy with the typewriter meets a performer at this cabaret called _Moulin Rouge_ ( _makes sense_ , Isak thinks) and they fall in love, intensely, breaking rules as they do.

And then she dies, too young and too early, and it seems so, so unfair, and Isak feels this small lump in his throat, this ache. He rapidly blinks and takes a deep breath to prevent himself from tearing up. He can't just cry in front of him _again_ , that'd be twice in the span of a week, and it just doesn't seem acceptable.

But then, he hears a short sniffle and he quickly turns to look at Even, brows furrowed.

Even wipes his eyes with the heel of his hands once, letting out a sigh. There's a different ache in Isak's chest now, at the sight of Even crying, and at the thought of him presumably being upset for the same reason as him. 

"It's pretty dumb because," Even breathes out a little laugh. "I know how it ends, you know? But sometimes I hope, deep deep down that she'll—"

"Survive," Isak finishes.

"Yeah," Even rests his chin into the palm of his hand. "It's like...when I watch _Titanic_ , and there's this tiny part of me who thinks 'Okay, maybe this time the boat won't sink, or they'll both get to use that floating door'. Or when I'm watching  _Romeo + Juliet_ and I think 'What if Romeo finds out in time that Juliet is still alive, and then they don't have to, you know," he trails off. He shakes his head a little, a smile on his lips that seems a little shy. "That probably doesn't make a whole lot of sense."

But it does, to Isak. He easily relates to the feeling, has felt it before.

"No, I get it," Isak quickly replies. "I remember once when I, like, randomly rewatched _The Lion King_ and I couldn't help but hope that Mufasa wouldn't die, even though I absolutely knew he would? Because what happens in the movie is never going to change, you know?"

Isak would never admit it. How much that movie, and that scene in particular, affected him. And it was probably a little silly, to bring up this animated film in this conversation, while Even mentioned these more complex—he assumes, based on the movie they had just watched—classics Isak had never even seen before.

But Even simply replies "Oh god, don't remind me." And there's a cross between a saddened pout and a smile on his face. "Kills me everytime. Like, how could Scar do that to his own brother?"

"Power hunger and greed," Isak guesses with a shrug—it's concepts he's all too familiar with.

"True," Even agrees, then leaning back into his seat. "Maybe this isn't the most joyful conversation to have at," he looks at the time on his phone. "Damn, 1:30."

Isak bites back a laugh. "I think this isn't the most joyful conversation to have, _ever_ ," he replies. But quite frankly, there is nothing about this moment that Isak doesn't enjoy. He shifts in his seat a little. "You know, they all survive in another universe."

"In another universe?"

"Yeah, like, in a parallel universe it doesn't end like this," he says, toying with the hem of his hoodie. "Satine doesn't get sick, or she does but she gets to heal, and the Titanic doesn't sink, and hm, like you said, Romeo finds out on time, and Mufasa's brother isn't so cruel." He stops, letting out a nervous laugh. "I'm totally rambling now."

"I like it when you ramble," Even replies, gazing at him. _He does_? "I think it's a nice thought, Isak," he then adds, sounding like he genuinely means that, and it sort of answers Isak's question. "I'm glad you shared it with me."

Gentle warmth spreads through Isak's chest, rises from his belly and floats somewhere around his collarbones. And maybe it's because Even is sitting on the seat right next to his, maybe it's because of how quiet the room has gone now that the movie is over, or maybe (probably) it's because Even holding him at Laura's wedding had revealed this need Isak didn't know he could have, but it sort of hits him, all of a sudden.

Isak looks at the way Even's arm curves around his bucket of popcorn and realizes that he wishes his arms were around him. And he finds himself regretting the fact that he had been so upset, and slightly tipsy when they _had_ been around him, because now that he's trying to remember the feeling, it makes it harder to tell if it's an accurate memory or simply his imagination getting carried away. 

He wishes there was a way to capture sensations, the way you capture sounds and images with cameras and microphones.

"What are you thinking?"

Isak's eyes jolt back to his "Hm?"

"You're thinking," Even simply points out, and Isak feels on the spot now.

"No, I just—I think I might've been dozing off there," he fakes a yawn that turns into an actual one, and Even yawns back a little.

Even doesn't insist. "It is kind of late." When he stands, Isak does as well. "I think someone actually likes popcorn," Even teases. Isak glances down at his now empty bucket—just a few popcorns scattered at the bottom and no hard kernels in sight. He lets out a small chuckle, scratches the back of his neck.

"I guess it's alright," he replies.

Perhaps it's the sleepiness that is taking over him, or it's the complete trusts he feels, or this increasing desire to just let go. Isak isn't so sure, but he quickly tells Even "You know Emma, the girl I was with?"

It takes a moment before Even nods. "What about her?" he asks.

"I broke things off with her."

Another moment passes. "Is that why you were upset?"

Isak slowly shakes his head. "I didn't want to be with her," he says.

"That's okay, it happens."

"She's a girl, that's—that's why I didn't want to be with her? She's a girl," he repeats, frowning a little.

It's only when a faint, understanding smile breaks across Even's face that Isak realizes that he had been holding his breath for a few seconds. He inhales deeply, and the air fills his lungs easily—it feels light.

"That's okay, too" Even replies, and Isak also feels a little light. "I think," Even looks to the side before his eyes find Isak's again. "You shouldn't be with someone you don't want to be with. It's not fair for both parties anyway."

Isak nods in silent agreement, his head barely moving.

Spending time with Even was nice, talking to him was nice. It was so incredibly, wonderfully nice. Perhaps a little too nice, in a way that confirmed that he was more than a simple acquaintance, that he meant more to Isak than that.

(But in all honesty, that fact never really required confirmation.)

When Isak gets back to his room, he retrieves his cellphone from his bedside table in order to set up his alarm for tomorrow. There are a few new messages awaiting him, two of which are the following:

> _**Even Bech Næsheim** _
> 
> _Hey :)_
> 
> _Thank you for tonight, I hadn't had a proper movie night in a long time :)_
> 
> _Sleep well Isak, see you tomorrow_

Isak wraps his covers around himself, trying to recreate that comfortable and warm cocoon he's been wanting to sleep in for the past week.

They could be friends, Even and him. Even could be a good friend, with whom he could hang out, one whom Isak could confide in sometimes.

> **_Isak Valtersen_ **
> 
> _It was really nice :) thank you for the movie_
> 
> _And the popcorn_
> 
> _See you tomorrow_

_My friend_ , Isak thinks, and it just sounds...disappointing, like a glass of lukewarm water on a hot summer day. But although he wants more, he'll still take what he can get, what Even can offer him. 

Lukewarm water on a hot summer day is still much better than no water at all. 

***

Isak ends up sleeping okay that night.  

There are round tables in the large reception room, waiters coming in and out and a pianist in the corner playing elevator music. Brunch has just started and the conversation at Isak's table has already become about potential upcoming plans for the business.

"The beauty industry is huge all over the world, it's a market that keeps increasing."

"It's a trend we should've hopped on years ago, to be quite frank."

"But is there even a demand to fulfill here?

"Are you serious? We can always create a demand for the products we launch. With the right advertisement strategy and the name of our brand, we could create a demand for, heck," Mr. Pedersen, one of the higher-ups at the company, lifts his spoon. "Valtersen cutlery!"

Isak sips on his mimosa, passively keeping up with the conversation, when he hears the man next to him clear his throat. Isak is pretty certain he's seen him around in the past few weeks, but they were never properly introduced until today. The guy can't be a day over thirty, his name is Mr. Jørgen _Something_ and if Isak remembers correctly, he's been recently hired as co-director of marketing.

"I think there's a large profit margin to be made here," he says, his tone neutral but assured, and everyone's attention is directed to him. "Cost of production is relatively low and given the current standards in that industry and the way buyers perceive our brand, we can easily set a high market price."

Mr. Something's eyes travel around the table until they're looking at Isak, whose apparent lack of reaction makes him raise his eyebrows ever so slightly.

"What do you think, Isak?" he hears his father asks, and people's attention shift toward him.

"I think," he immediately says, knowing that he has to be quick on his feet, that it's the least his father expects of him. "That we can definitely generate an interest among customers. We could achieve high initial sales, but we also have to make sure that all the products we launch are consistent with our standards of quality."

His father gives a single approving nod.

"Disappointing products could eventually cancel out all those initial profits, and even worse than that, they could actually do damage to the brand's reputation. The line isn't that fine, but it's definitely something we have to be mindful of."

He's talking directly to Isak, and when he's done, he doesn't look away, doesn't look at anyone else's reaction. "Right?" he asks, his mouth curved into a little smile.

"Absolutely," Isak replies.

The brunch continues and lighter topics are brought up at the table. The two people on his right are talking about destinations for the upcoming holiday season, their latest car purchases and their personal investments.

Isak feels out of place, but he listens—or at least, he appears to—, making small talk and forcing out unfelt little laughs now and then.

And then, his phone vibrate in the inside pocket of his jacket.

> _**Even Bech Næsheim** _
> 
> _Why do ants rarely get sick?_
> 
> _Because they have good_
> 
> _Wait for it......._
> 
> _Antybodies :)_

It's from Even, and Isak can't stop the small giggle that bubbles in his throat as he reads it. His eyes scan the room as he realizes that he hasn't seen him yet, and when he does find him, he's leaning against a wall, camera around his neck as per usual. He's already looking at Isak, a small smirk on his lips.

Isak shakes his head as if to ask "Why did you send me that?" because, really, _why did he send him that._

Isak sees him type a reply.

> _**Even Bech Næsheim** _
> 
> _Aw, come on now, it's one of the best in my collection_
> 
> _You seemed bored :)_

When Isak looks back up, Even is shrugging. Isak subtly bites the inside of his lip. 

> **_Isak Valtersen_ **
> 
> _Jeez, I don't want to know what the worst ones are like then_
> 
> _But nice try :)_
> 
> _**Even Bech Næsheim** _
> 
> _You're smiling now, though :)_

And, well, he _is_. But it's not exactly because of the pun.

Isak is startled by Mr. Something leaning in, and almost talking into his ear. "You know, it's considered rude to use your phone at the table."

"Everyone uses their phone at the table," he says defensively, feeling as though he's been caught.

The disapproving look on the man's face turns amused. "I was wondering if I'll be seeing you around at BI next semester?" he asks.

Isak frowns, wonders why he's being asked this question now, and by him. "You won't be, no?" he replies.

"That's a shame," he says, bringing a napkin to his face to wipe the corner of his mouth. "I'm gonna be teaching a class there."

"Oh, congratulations."

"Well, thank you, _Isak_ ," he replies, and there's something about the way he says his name, Isak can't exactly pinpoint what it is, but he just doesn't like the way it sounds coming out of his mouth. "How come you won't be there, an obviously smart guy like you?"

Isak swallows. "I just don't go to BI."

After a moment, the man lets out a small chuckle. "Well, it's not like you need it anyway," he says, and Isak might've believed that he was saying that because he thought he was smart, like he had just mentioned, but then Isak notices his eyes going from him to his father, and then back to him.

And Isak can't refute that, because it's undeniable that if he weren't his father's son, he would never be able to work for the business without a degree, and they wouldn't have let him sit at this table either. It's probably a thought Isak should dread and want to avoid, but he can't even pretend that he does. 

"I guess I'll still be seeing you around at work, then," Jørgen Something says, still with that playful tone, bringing his glass of water to his lips and winking at Isak before he takes a sip. He leans in slightly again. "Besides, there are other ways to teach outside of school."

His voice is low and he's  _flirting_ , but Isak doesn't want to reciprocate. He's handsome and well dressed and educated, but they're sitting at a table full of co-workers, his father is right there and he's just not—

This conversation, where it's heading, is absolutely not what Isak wants right now. _He's_ absolutely not what Isak wants right now.

"I don't think that will be necessary," Isak says flatly, and the other man doesn't insist. And maybe that's one of the perks of being his father's son; being able to make people walk on eggshells around him, them not wanting to end up in his bad graces. 

It's not like Isak  _plans_ to, but he ends up looking for Even, just because he wants a reminder that he's here, because the sight of him is the only one he wants in this room full of people. But as Isak searches for him, brunch comes to an end, and he quickly realizes that he's nowhere to be found.

***

Isak guesses it's not the most flattering sight, him sprawled out over his bed,  _Make You Feel My Love_ by Adele on repeat in his ears because it's a song that played when Even had embraced him, and listening to it might just remind him of that moment. And Isak _had_  held off listening to it until about half an hour ago, when  _Moulin Rouge_ had popped up on his Netflix library, and he  _really_ couldn't ignore the fact that he hadn't been in touch with Even for three days, and that he missed him already.  

(He's most definitely certain that it's not the most flattering sight.) 

 _You're smiling now, though_. Isak reads Even's last words to him, and they were true then, but they also are now. Except he's wearing a different kind of smile as he rereads the text. The one Even had referred to had been light and amused, and right now it simply reveals the longing that has been simmering inside of him. 

When the song is over, he pauses it so it doesn't start again, and he begins to type. 

> _**Isak Valtersen** _
> 
> _When a photon checks into a hotel and gets asked if it needs a bellman, what does it reply?_

It's what good friends do, right? Sending each other random puns and jokes they find online. Isak does it all the time with his other friends (or at least, he used to), so really, it's no big deal. 

And so he tries not to expect a reply, tries not to expect anything at this point, to not crave it, because a friend also wouldn't do that. But really, it shouldn't come as a surprise when he fails, when he does start expecting and craving. When the reply doesn't come and he starts wondering why. 

Who was he kidding anyway? 

At least he tried. Did he try his best, though? Well, maybe he didn't, and he should try harder, just make an effort, just stop seeing Even as something he'll never be and—

But Isak doesn't want to, doesn't really feel like he _can_ anymore. 

He did try his best. He tried his very, very best.  

It's the same routine every night now, and it's comfortable, it's _fine._ Isak has great bed covers, but it's just not what he wants wrapped around him right now. 

***

The moon is full again and Isak is up to witness it, lying on the multiple blankets and pillows he arranged on the floor of their gigantic sunroom. The night sky is visible through the glass ceiling, and Isak is lucky he gets to look at it from this angle without actually having to step outside in the cold.

That's the thing, though. Isak is indeed looking at the sky, but he's not quite _seeing_ it. He can tell that his eyes are presented with a gorgeous view, but his mind is wandering elsewhere. He's not able to just concentrate on the sky, to get lost in it. He tells himself that it's because skygazing isn't the same when you're indoor, but he knows that's not the reason why. 

He hugs one of the pillows to his chest, his chin resting on top of it, which is quite ridiculous, really, but he just needs—he just needs _something_. Well,  _someone_ , ideally, but that's just not part of his options right now, so he'll settle for this pillow, instead.  

Isak squeezes it a little tighter, almost forgetting about the sky above him. 

Time passes and Isak hears a knock on the door. He quickly sits up, startled, and puts the pillow down. When he doesn't say anything, there's another knock on the door. 

"Isak?" he hears. 

"Oh god," he whispers to himself, his heart picking up speed. "Yes?" he calls back. 

"Can I come in?" 

Isak starts to blink, wondering if he should quickly pick up the blankets and pillows and hide them somewhere and go sit on the armchair next to him instead, but there's no time for that. 

"I can go if you'd rather not." Even's voice is calm and sincere. 

Isak shakes his head spontaneously, although Even can't see him. "The door is unlocked," he says. 

The sound of the doorknob twisting open is loud in his ears and Isak doesn't turn around as Even comes in, as he makes his way towards him. 

"Is there room for me?" Isak can tell that he's right behind him. 

 _There's room for you anywhere_ , he thinks. "They're pretty spacious," he shrugs, gesturing at the blankets on the floor. 

Even sits down and Isak gets to glance at him from the corner of his eyes. He immediately looks away, looks back up to the sky, his arms around his knees, and he can't help but  _wonder._

_Where have you been? Why didn't you answer to my stupid, stupid joke? Why are you here with me? Can you enlighten me, at least just a little? Can you just help me understand?_

"So, what did the photon reply?" 

There's a tentative smile on Even's lips and Isak sees him toy with the strings of his hoodie. 

"It says..." he begins, now fixated on Even's hands, large palms and long fingers. He's glad to know how soft they are. He also hates to know how soft they are. "It says 'I'm traveling light'." He pauses. "The photon doesn't need a bellman because it's...traveling light." 

Even laughs through his nose. "And you thought the pun _I_ sent you was lame?" 

"Mine was absolutely not lame," Isak protests quietly, and Even smiles at him. "Not as lame." 

A moment passes in silence. 

"You brought coffee?" Isak furrows his brow at the sudden question, but then he remembers the thermos he had brought along with him. "Oh," he stops to take it, and it's warm in his hand. "No, that's, hm. White hot chocolate? With caramel." 

"Isak, that sounds...really sweet, like really, _really_ sweet." 

"Says the guy who puts three sugars in his coffee." 

Even lets out a high pitched sound, somewhere between a gasp and a laugh. "Hey! You said three sugars was fine." 

And, well, maybe Isak did say that Even putting three sugars in his coffee was fine, but _also—_

"Maybe I don't think it's fine now, maybe I changed my mind," he says rapidly, slightly defensive, and the entire mood shifts. Even looks down momentarily, and when he looks back up, Isak can tell that he's grown more serious. They both have. 

"Why are you here?" It's the one question Isak ends up asking, and by _here_ , he doesn't mean somewhere in their mansion. Isak means here, with _him_ , in this room. He's not accusing, he's not trying to point a finger. He just wants to know, he just _—_

He just needs to know. 

"I just wanted to see you," Even simply says, shrugging. 

Isak's chest tightens. _But w_ _hy?_

"You have someone, outside of here. You have _—_ _someone_ , Even." He pauses, tries to take a deep breath, but he can't with the lump forming in his throat. It makes no fucking sense that he's here instead. 

"Sonja and I broke up." He says it like he's confessing a secret, like he's never said the words before. 

It leaves him speechless.

And perhaps that should've helped the lump in his throat disappear, because isn't that part of what hurt him all along? To know that Even was with someone else? But instead it seems like it has only increased in size since Even has spoken. Because what hurts more than knowing that Even is with someone else is the idea of Even himself being hurt. 

"I'm so sorry," he whispers.  

Even shakes his head. "Don't be," he replies. He starts playing with the strings of his hoodie again. "You know, when you told me about ending things with Emma?" 

"Mhm?"

Isak listens attentively as Even continues. "When I said that you shouldn't be with someone you don't want to be with, that it wasn't fair for you or them, it sort of made me realize that I," Even lets out a sigh. "That I shouldn't be with her, then. It wasn't for the same reason, but the principle still applies, you know?" 

Isak nods silently. "But are you okay?" he asks carefully. It's all he wants to know right now, it's what matters the most. "We can talk about it, if you want." In the end, Isak had been so set on not wanting Even to be just a friend that he hadn't stopped to think that maybe Even needed  _him_ to be his friend, to be someone he could confide in. 

There is a barely-there smile on Even's face. "I'm okay," he replies. 

Isak's fingers are tapping the thermos. "Do you want some?" he asks, holding it out. 

Even's smile grows wider. "Sure," he replies, taking the thermos from Isak's hand. He takes a sip, and Isak just hopes he'll enjoy as much as he does. 

"Very sweet," Even chuckles.

"Good?" 

"Good," he repeats softly. 

He takes another sip, before he hands it back to Isak, who then brings the drink to his lips. Even is right, it  _is_ sweet _,_ but it's mostly warm and it tastes like coziness. It's one of his favorite things to drink, and he likes the fact that he got to share it with him. 

He hears Even huff out a laugh. "This is so cliché," he says. 

"What?"

"You have something," he tells him, Even's thumb gently tapping just above his own upper lip. 

 _Oh_. Isak swipes the tip of his tongue across the area, tastes the sweetness from the caramel. 

"You actually managed to get it all off," Even says, as if he expected a different outcome. "Maybe this isn't a cliché scene, after all." 

Isak is confused as to what Even is referring to. "A cliché scene?"  

"Yeah, like. You know, there's a scene where person A is eating or drinking, and they have something on their face, and then person B tells them 'you have something on your face', and person A doesn't manage to get it off themselves, so person B," Even stops, and Isak notices that he's starring down at his mouth now. 

And then Even is slowly raising a hand, and it comes closer and closer and Isak's breath catches in his throat when it gently holds his chin. "Person B helps person A get it off," he finishes, and he begins to stroke that spot over Isak's lip where the small trace of caramel had been. 

Isak tries not clench his teeth, tries to keep his breathing steady, knowing that Even can feel it on his hand. But Even starts stroking his bottom lip and when Isak exhales, it comes out shaky.  

"And in that scenario, person B always has a thing for person A," he then says, and when Even holds his gaze, Isak wants to look away, because it's too much. This moment, the way his heart beats against his ribcage, is too much.  

He closes his eyes instead. 

"Sometimes I feel like I can't stop thinking about you," Even whispers. 

Isak quickly shakes his head. "No," he says, swallowing hard.  

His skin feels cold when Even's hand leaves his face. "No?" 

Isak opens his eyes again, and Even has this look on his face, like he's both confused and wounded. 

"It doesn't make sense," Isak murmurs. It just  _doesn't._ All this time— _all_ this time, Even has been on his mind, not leaving even when Isak tried to chase him away. And Isak had to be the only one, right?  _Right?_

"Why not?" Even asks. 

"Because I'm the one who can't stop," he answers, like he's just pointing out the obvious.

"Well, I can't either," Even replies. 

Isak still can't wrap his mind around it. He hears Even, he knows he heard him right, but it feels like it can't possibly be true, like there has to be a missing piece in this mess of a puzzle. 

"You said—you said you didn't want to kiss me," Isak hates how it comes out as a whine. 

Even sighs. "I said that I wasn't going to kiss you that night mostly because you had too much to drink, and you were upset," he corrects him softly. 

"That's not how I remember it," Isak replies sheepishly. The memory he had tried to forget didn't exactly go like this. 

"That's because you had too much to drink," Even tells him, a faint smile on his lips. 

Seconds that feel like minutes pass by and Even's thumb ghosts over Isak's lips again. "Can I?" he asks, breathing out the words. 

It feels kind of blurry, like they're two figures in a hazy dream, and there's nothing but the two of them when Isak nods, Even's hand then settling on the side of his face as he starts leaning in. 

But then there is this moment, as Even's lips touch his own, when it all just  _clicks_. Like Isak was given this heavy set of keys he's been carrying around, trying to find the right one to open the right door, and he's found it, at last. Even captures his bottom lip, licks and bites so gently, and Isak finally gets to step inside this whole new place, and let go of the weight of the keys that weren't meant for him. 

Isak breathes halfway into the kiss, and then he reciprocates tentatively, a hand gripping Even's wrist as he kisses back.

"Perfect," Even whispers against his mouth, and Isak feels warm everywhere.

"You," he pants.

When he parts his lips and Even starts to lick into his mouth, fingers sliding into his hair, Isak starts leaning back until his head finds one of the pillows. 

Isak allows himself to run his own fingers through Even's hair, to touch and feel, and it's not quite like he imagined. Even's lips are plush against his, he can feel the late-day stubble on his chin and his mouth tastes like he wants more. And there are these sounds he makes, eager sighs and quiet moans, like he might've been craving this, too. 

It's so much better than he ever let himself imagine, and Isak completely forgets about the moon and the stars above them—those can wait, but  _this_ can't. Isak doesn't want to wait anymore. 

He isn't sure he's doing a good job. He sometimes forgets what he's doing with his mouth, with his hands, and it feels clumsy and uncoordinated at times, and Even just smiles into the kiss. Isak doesn't want it to end. 

Perhaps Isak doesn't know how to kiss a guy well yet, but what he does know is that he wants to do it again. And again and again and again. 

And so he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this happened! writing this moment at the end, at last, felt so nice :) 
> 
> thank you so sooo much for reading, once again, and i'm sorry for the delay :( i hope you're all having the nicest weekend, and summer 
> 
> you can find me on tumblr [here](http://skamz.tumblr.com) :)


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